flash
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. / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - THE COUP DE GRÂCE

By midnight, the fortieth floor looked like a war zone. Chicago police—bought and paid for by the Rossy family—had quietly cleared away Moretti’s men, while maintenance crews worked frantically to mop up the indoor flood.

Lorenzo sat behind his desk, wearing a dry spare shirt, staring out at the snowy Chicago skyline.

Chloe sat across from him wrapped in a wool blanket, sipping hot espresso laced with whiskey that Matteo had pressed into her hands.

“Moretti knows he’s losing,” Lorenzo said quietly, his voice dangerously low. “With his finances choked off and his elite squad in a body bag, he’s going to make a desperate move. He’s calling a summit at his warehouse on the harbor tomorrow night.”

“And you’re going,” Chloe stated.

“I have to. If I don't show, the other families will think I’m weak.” Lorenzo looked at her. “And you are staying right here under guard.”

“No, I’m not,” Chloe said firmly.

“Chloe, this isn't a spreadsheet error or a broken shoe. This is a Sicilian sit-down with a madman who wants us both dead.”

“Which is precisely why I’m coming,” Chloe snapped, dropping her espresso cup onto the stone desk. “Moretti’s financial lifeline isn't just a few shell companies—it’s an international cryptocurrency wallet tied to a Swiss bank account. He’s got twenty million dollars hidden there that he’s using to buy out your captains. If you walk in there without the encryption keys, he’ll blackmail your entire organization.”

Lorenzo stared at her, realizing she was right. “You have the keys?”

“I downloaded them from Victor Vance’s encrypted flash drive three weeks ago,” Chloe said coolly. “I am the only person on earth who knows the access code. If you go to that warehouse without me, you’ll walk into a trap and your empire will collapse by sunrise.”

Lorenzo looked at her for a long time. The fierce, unbreakable mob boss saw something in the clumsy, brilliant accountant that he had never found in any capos, soldiers, or lieutenants: absolute, unyielding loyalty.

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My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, the source of the warmth against my side wasn't an assassin, an operative from a rival syndicate, or a traitorous lieutenant.

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“Fine,” Lorenzo relented softly. “You ride with me. But you stay behind me every second.”

“Deal,” Chloe said.

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