Frankie Stein was built like a baby grand. That along with the scars, the corpse-blue pallor of his skin, his cold, dead eyes and his hideous smile made him look like some monster out of Hollywood. Not to mention the bolts. Nelly didn’t even want to think about the bolts…

“What’s your dopey friend staring at?,” Frankie snarled.

Stella elbowed Nelly in the ribs, breaking her trance. Nelly quickly looked down at the table. “Forget her,” Stella said. “The map, Frank, the map.” Stella snapped her fingers.

Frankie’s grin returned. “Say I got this map that leads to something that’ll make me the most powerful gangster in the world. Why would I just give it to you?”

“Two reasons. One: It belongs to me. Two…” Stella said, pulling the tiny Derringer she had strapped to her thigh, as the bodyguards pulled their pistols. “Tell your torpedoes to drop their heaters or else I turn you into the Dead Don.”

“Little girl,” Frankie laughed, standing to his full height. “You just made the last mistake of your life.”