My pulse hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. In the dim, amber-lit sanctuary of my Chicago penthouse, the silence of the night felt thick, suffocating, and dripping with betrayal. For fifteen years, men had crossed oceans just to avoid looking me in the eye / Chapter 5 / 20

Chapter 5 - The South Side TrapThe abandoned sugar refinery on the industrial edge of the South Side loomed against the gray Chicago skyline like a skeletal monolith. Rusting iron beams crisscrossed overhead, and the smell of stagnant river water and old oil hung heavy in the damp air.

Our convoy—three black armored SUVs with tinted glass—slid silently into the perimeter behind the refinery.

"Status?" I spoke into the encrypted comms unit clipped to my collar.

"Perimeter is secured," Vance, my head of security, replied from the lead vehicle. "Camille’s Mercedes is parked inside the main loading bay. She’s not alone, boss. Heat signatures show at least six armed guards inside, plus one high-value individual in the central office."

"Move in. No shooting unless fired upon. I want Camille alive, and I want her talking," I ordered, stepping out into the cold wind.

We moved like ghosts through the shattered loading dock doors. The interior of the refinery was a maze of rusted catwalks and towering machinery. Through my binoculars, I spotted Camille standing on the second-level gantry, pacing nervously in her designer trench coat.

Opposite her stood a tall, silver-haired man in a bespoke Italian suit that looked entirely out of place in the grime.

Julian Vance—not a relation to my security head, but the ruthless head of the rival Petrovic syndicate's American branch.

"...the papers are signed?" Julian’s voice echoed across the cavernous room.

"Almost," Camille snapped, crossing her arms. "Arthur was supposed to finalize it this morning, but Roman acted suspicious. If he backs out of the signing, the entire legal trap falls apart. We’ll have to move to phase two."

"Phase two is messy, Camille," Julian replied, stepping closer and tapping a silver cigarette case. "Your husband isn't just some businessman. He's a ghost. If you force an open war, the Commission will step in, and you’ll end up like your father."

Camille’s face contorted into a mask of pure venom. "My father was a coward who let Roman walk over him. I am not my father. Once I control the Moretti estate, I’ll drain the accounts, ship the brats to an overseas orphanage, and burn this city to the ground."

From the shadows beneath the gantry, I stepped out into the harsh beam of a halogen work light.

"That's a very ambitious plan, Camille," I said softly.

The sound of my voice cut through the cavern like a razor. Camille spun around, her face instantly draining of all color. Julian Petrovic froze, his hand hovering over his coat pocket where a silenced Walther PPK rested.

"Roman," Camille whispered, her voice trembling. "How—how did you..."

"Did you really think a wolf invites a stray dog into his den without checking its teeth?" I walked slowly toward the steel staircase, my boots ringing out like hammer blows against the metal. "You wanted my empire. You wanted my children. And most of all, you wanted to play God."

Julian Petrovic recovered his composure with a cold, mocking smile. He pulled his hand out of his pocket—empty—and spread his arms.

"Well, well, the great Roman Moretti. Walking right into an ambush. You must be losing your touch in your old age."

I stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking up at both of them.

"Ambush?" I let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Julian, look around."

From the upper catwalks all around the cavern, red laser dots suddenly materialized, dancing across the chests of Julian’s six guards.