Lorenzo Rossy’s eyebrow arched an infinitesimal fraction of an inch. No one—not rival capos, not corrupt city councilmen, and certainly not trembling applicants—ever asked him if he had yelled at a woman who left his office in tears.

The first snow of February paralyzed downtown Chicago, blanketing the city in a thick layer of white silence. But inside the Rossy Corporation, the atmosphere was boiling hot.

For three weeks, Chloe had operated as Lorenzo’s secret weapon. She had audited every ledger, plugged every leak, and systematically cut off the financial oxygen feeding Moretti’s syndicate. The rival mob boss was bleeding money, and he knew exactly who was responsible.

Word on the street was spreading: the cold, ruthless Sicilian boss had a new weapon, and her name was Chloe Bennett.

It was 9:00 PM on a Tuesday. The office was quiet. Lorenzo was reviewing an export manifest when the building’s master power grid suddenly cut out.

The overhead lights flickered and died, plunging the fortieth floor into darkness. Emergency red backup lights hummed to life along the baseboards, casting long, eerie shadows across the glass walls.

“Matteo?” Lorenzo called out, his hand instantly dropping to his shoulder holster.

No answer.

The heavy steel security shutters over the floor-to-ceiling windows began to descend automatically, controlled by an external override.

Someone has hacked the building’s mainframe, Chloe realized, her heart skipping a beat as she stood up from her desk.

Before she could run toward Lorenzo’s office, the elevator doors at the end of the hall dinged.

The doors slid open. Four men in heavy tactical gear, armed with silenced submachine guns, stepped out into the dim red corridor. They weren't standard thugs; they were Moretti’s elite enforcers, sent to finish what Victor Vance had started.

“Lorenzo!” Chloe gasped, sprinting down the hallway just as Lorenzo stepped out of his office with his Beretta drawn.

“Get back inside!” Lorenzo barked, grabbing her arm and shoving her behind a concrete pillar.

The hallway erupted in gunfire. Shards of glass exploded from the partition walls as bullets chewed through the modern office decor. Lorenzo fired back with terrifying precision, dropping the lead enforcer with a single shot to the chest.

But three more advanced, guns raised.

Matteo was trapped on the floor below, cut off by the automated security shutters. Lorenzo was pinned behind a drywall partition, running low on ammunition.

“They’re coming around the flank!” Chloe yelled, her eyes darting frantically across the corridor.

She spotted the industrial fire-suppression control panel on the wall. It was a manual override box encased in thick glass, designed for emergency sprinkler activation.

Without thinking, Chloe grabbed a heavy brass umbrella stand, hoisted it over her shoulder, and hurled it straight into the glass panel.

CRASH.

She slammed her fist down on the red master valve.

Instantly, high-pressure water flooded the ceiling pipes. The automatic overhead sprinklers blasted to life, instantly soaking the hallway in a torrential downpour. The tactical gear Moretti’s men wore suddenly became heavy, slippery, and blinding as water cascaded down their visors.

Before the enforcers could recover, Lorenzo leaped from cover, disarmed the second man with a brutal roundhouse kick, and used the butt of his pistol to drop the third.

The fourth man lunged toward Chloe, raising his weapon.

Chloe didn't hesitate. She grabbed a wet, slippery floor sign that read CAUTION: WET FLOOR, wound up like a baseball pitcher, and smashed it directly across the enforcer’s face. He hit the carpeted floor like a sack of wet cement and didn't move.

Silence fell over the floor again, save for the roaring sound of the sprinklers and the heavy panting of the combatants.

Lorenzo stood in the middle of the flooded hallway, completely soaked, his charcoal suit ruined, holding a smoking gun. He slowly turned his head to look at Chloe, who was standing beside the broken sprinkler box, soaked to the skin, her hair plastered to her face, holding the yellow caution sign like a shield.