Chapter 7 - The Final Chess Move
Before I could answer—before I could find the words to tear down the last walls protecting my shattered heart—the library door flew open with violent force.
Luke stood in the doorway, his face pale, his SIG Sauer drawn and pointed at the floor.
“Boss,” Luke panted, his chest heaving. “We just cracked the encrypted comms from the dead mercenaries. We found out who hired them.”
My head snapped up, the domestic tension in the room instantly evaporating, replaced by the lethal focus of an underworld warlord. “Who?”
“Not Moretti,” Luke said, stepping into the room and tossing a heavily encrypted thumb drive onto the desk. “It was Dante.”
Dante Vitale.
My own consigliere. The man who had sat at my right hand for ten years, managing our legal loopholes, structuring our offshore accounts, and whispering advice into my ear during our darkest hours.
“Dante?” I repeated, a cold, deathly stillness washing over my entire body. “Are you certain?”
“Positive,” Luke nodded grimly. “He thought you were losing your grip because of the domestic distraction. He made a deal with the Chicago syndicate coalition to hand over the leadership keys in exchange for a fifty-million-dollar payout and immunity. He’s holding a board meeting at the downtown penthouse right now to ratify the coup.”
I stared at the thumb drive on the desk. All the pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity. The security blind spots during the night of the attack, the precise timing of the mercenaries, the insider knowledge of the west wing layout—it all belonged to Dante.
The betrayal didn't hurt. In my world, betrayal was the baseline currency.
What made my blood run cold was the realization that Dante knew where every safehouse was, every contingency plan, and every weakness I possessed.
“Get the tactical teams ready,” I said, my voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. “Full gear. Armored convoy. We’re going to downtown Chicago.”
“Boss,” Luke warned, casting a sideways glance at Elena, who was still standing by the desk. “Dante has forty armed enforcers locked inside the penthouse tower. It’s a suicide mission if we go in blind.”
“It’s not a suicide mission,” I said, pulling my holster over my shoulders and snapping the leather straps into place. “It’s an execution.”
I turned back to Elena. She was staring at me, her eyes wide with a terrifying mixture of fear and profound understanding.
“Stay inside the west wing,” I commanded, my voice softening just a fraction. “Lock the doors. Luke will leave two men outside. When I get back, we’ll finish this conversation.”
Elena didn't argue. She stepped forward, reaching out with a trembling hand to gently touch the sleeve of my jacket.
May you like
“Come back, Adrian,” she whispered. “Lily still needs her other cheek painted.”
I looked down into her dark, terrified, beautiful eyes, and for the first time in my life, I made a silent vow to the universe: I am coming back.
