The air in the Peninsula Hotel ballroom didn't just turn cold—it shattered. Three hundred of Chicago’s most powerful elite froze in place. The faint clinking of crystal glasses ceased entirely. The flash of camera bulbs, which had been steady all night, paused in a collective gasp before erupting into a frenzy of aggressive white light.

Lena didn't tell Victor.

She knew that if she told the mafia lord, he would turn the city into a war zone, and in the chaos, her father would die before anyone reached his room. This was her burden. Her trap.

Stealing a pair of keys from the estate’s secondary garage, Lena sneaked past the outer guards during a shift change at dusk. Rain poured from the sky in heavy sheets as she drove Victor’s dark sedan toward the abandoned industrial district along the Chicago River.

The river warehouse was a decaying monolithic structure of rusted iron and shattered glass. It was where Derek’s family had made their original fortune before transitioning into corporate real estate—a place with no cameras, no public eyes, and no mercy.

Lena parked the car, her hands slick with sweat on the steering wheel. She grabbed a small iron tire iron from the trunk, hiding it beneath her long coat, and stepped into the downpour.

The heavy sliding doors of the warehouse creaked open as she pushed her way inside. The air was thick with the smell of rust, stagnant river water, and engine oil.

"Derek!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the high steel rafters. "I'm here! Turn off the threat to my father!"

Clapping echoed from the shadows.

Out of the darkness stepped Derek Hail, flanked by four armed men. He wasn't wearing his polished gala suit anymore. He wore a heavy leather jacket, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild with unhinged fury.

"You actually came," Derek laughed, a dark, sinister sound. "You really are a dutiful little daughter, aren't you, Lena?"

"Where is he?" Lena demanded, taking a step back as his men began to fan out, encircling her. "Call off your hitman at the hospital! Now!"

Derek walked up to her, his smile vanishing instantly. Before she could react, his hand shot out, slapping her hard across the face.

The force sent Lena crashing to the concrete floor, the tire iron sliding out from under her coat and rolling uselessly into the dark. Her cheek burned with white-hot pain, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

"You embarrassed me, Lena," Derek growled, kneeling beside her and grabbing a handful of her hair, pulling her head back violently. "You let that scum put his hands on you. You smiled for him!"

"He... he is twice the man you will ever be," Lena spat, glaring up at him with pure hatred despite the blood running down her lip.

Derek’s face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage. He pulled out a small black syringe from his pocket.

"We’re going on a trip, sweetheart," Derek whispered into her ear. "A long one. And by the time Victor Salvatore finds your body, he’ll realize that taking what’s mine was the biggest mistake of his life."

He raised the syringe toward her neck. Lena closed her eyes, bracing for the needle.