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The glass paperweight had missed Luke’s head by an inch, shattering against the mahogany bookshelf and raining razor-sharp crystal shards across the Persian rug. I sat in my custom, leather-upholstered titanium wheelchair, chest heaving, the phantom pain in my shins flaring like a blowtorch. / Chapter 13 / 20

Chapter 13 - The Shadow of the Past

The underworld didn't die quietly; it mutated. With the North Side Outfit dismantled and my brother behind bars, a vacuum opened up in the Midwest logistics chain. A syndicate offshoot known as the Iron Syndicate—run by a ruthless ex-KGB fixer named Viktor Rostov—decided to test the waters.

They didn't send hitmen this time. They sent an accountant.

A sleek, Italian-leather briefcase landed on my desk the next afternoon, delivered by a terrified courier who vomited in the foyer trash can before fleeing. Inside was not a bomb, but a ledger and a deed.

"They bought the mortgages on Emma’s mother's memory-care facility," Luke whispered, his face grim as he studied the documents. "And the residential block where Emma’s sister lives. Rostov is consolidating neighborhood property lines. He knows she’s your weak point, Boss."

My blood turned to liquid nitrogen. I didn't yell. I didn't throw a paperweight. I simply stared at the signature at the bottom of the deed: V. Rostov.

"Get the tactical gear," I told Luke softly. "We're going for a midnight drive."

"Daniel, no," Emma’s voice rang out from the doorway. She had heard everything. Her face was pale, but her jaw was set in that stubborn, terrifying line I had come to both love and fear. "If you walk into Rostov’s warehouse with an army, you violate your federal probation terms. You’ll hand him the very victory your brother tried to give him."

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The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped, dimly lit kitchen, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest raging inside Adrian Whitmore’s mind. Standing just beyond the rotting wooden doorframe of her apartment, hidden by the heavy shadows of the crumbling stairwell, the millionaire tried to steady his breathing. His expensive wool coat was soaked through, but he didn’t care. His eyes were entirely fixed on the scene unfolding a few feet away.

The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped,...

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.

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath...

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the slow, heavy drip of my own pulse in my ears. Dominic Rossi’s dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a feverish intensity that should have sent me running back down the hallway and out into the rain

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the sl...

"I am not sitting here while some foreign butcher plays landlord to your family," I growled, gripping the armrests.

"Then we don't go with an army," Emma said, stepping into the room and walking right up to my chair. She placed her hands over mine, stopping my knuckles from turning white. "We go together. As business partners."

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