Dominic Russo didn’t move. His winter-sky eyes remained fixed on Harper, cold and calculating. The heavy leather door of the Escalade sealed them off from the freezing Chicago rain, turning the vehicle into an impenetrable sanctuary—or a rolling cage.

The meeting took place inside a grand, subterranean boardroom beneath the historic Drake Hotel. The room was heavy with the smell of expensive cigars, leather, and impending violence.

Around the long mahogany table sat the heads of the five major families of the Midwest, guarded by their respective capos. At the head of the table sat Don Carmine Russo—an elderly man with sunken eyes, a treacherous smile, and an aura of absolute malice.

Harper sat next to Dominic, dressed in an elegant black dress provided by Dominic’s tailors. She looked every bit like a queen standing beside a king, though under the table, her legs were shaking.

“Dominic, my boy,” Carmine spoke in a raspy, heavily accented Italian voice. “You call us here because of rumors. Skimming? Traitors? And yet, you bring this... civilian girl into our sacred council?”

“This civilian girl,” Dominic replied smoothly, leaning back in his leather armchair, “has uncovered what your entire security network failed to see, Uncle. Over $40 million has been siphoned from the Chicago transit routes over the last eighteen months.”

Carmine sneered. “And who does she claim is taking it? Me?”

“No,” Harper spoke up, her voice ringing clearly across the silent room. Every eye snapped to her. She opened a leather portfolio, placing financial spread sheets in front of each boss. “Not you, Don Carmine. The money was being funneled through a network of shell corporations registered in Delaware. But the ultimate beneficiary isn't a rival family.”

She turned a page, laying down a photo of a man sitting across the table.

It was Lorenzo Russo—Dominic’s trusted consigliere.

Lorenzo’s face turned ashen. “This is madness! She’s lying! Dominic, you take the word of a common whore over your own blood?!”

“Silence!” Dominic roared, slamming his fist onto the table with a force that made the crystal glasses ring. The temperature in the room plummeted to absolute zero.

“Look at the final ledger line, Lorenzo,” Harper said steadily, though her blood ran cold. “The money wasn't being used to buy real estate. It was used to fund an private militia. The same mercenaries that attacked The Iron Vault four days ago. Lorenzo wasn't just stealing. He was paying off the Chief of Police to arrest Dominic so he could take over the entire Russo empire with Palermo’s blessing.”

Lorenzo panicked. He reached beneath his jacket for a concealed pistol.

SPAT!

A single suppressed shot echoed through the room. Lorenzo stiffened, a tiny red hole appearing in the center of his forehead. He collapsed forward onto the polished table, knocking over a glass of red wine that spilled across the financial papers.

Dominic lowered his weapon, his eyes cold and unblinking. He hadn't hesitated for a microsecond.

Carmine stared at Lorenzo’s body, then slowly raised his cold eyes to Dominic. “You kill your own uncle without my permission, Dominic?”

“He was a traitor to the family,” Dominic said, leaning forward. “And anyone who backed him is next.”

Carmine’s jaw tightened. He stood up slowly, clutching his cane. “This isn't over, nephew. You brought an outsider into our bloodline business. She knows too much now. Under Sicilian law, an outsider who knows our secrets must either die... or become family.”