flash
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 3 / 20

Chapter 3 - The Wire and the Wheel

"Who authorized the tail on her?" I demanded, my hands gripping the armrests of my chair so hard the leather groaned.

Luke stood at attention, his face pale under the harsh study lights. "Nobody in our crew, Boss. That's why I'm worried. It's the Outfit remnants from the North Side. They know you've been withdrawing liquid capital to fund something quiet. They think Emma is a new mistress or an informant."

"Find out which crew sent the photo," I ordered, my voice dropping an octave into the lethal register that had built an empire. "And double the security detail around her mother's facility. Discreetly. If a fly lands on that woman without my permission, I want a full ballistic report."

When Emma came in that evening to clean the master wing, she looked different. Her face was pale, and she kept glancing out the reinforced glass windows toward the sprawling, fog-drenched Chicago lawns.

"Everything alright, Emma?" I asked, wheeling out from the shadow of the indoor atrium.

She jumped, clutching a dusting cloth to her chest. "Fine. Just... tired. Some guys were hanging around the bus stop outside my apartment complex today. Asking weird questions about who I work for."

I felt a cold knot twist in my gut. They were testing my perimeter.

"Stay here tonight," I said.

She blinked, stepping back. "Excuse me?"

"The weather is turning into a severe storm, and your buses stop running by midnight anyway," I said smoothly, masking the urgency in my tone. "There's a guest suite on the main floor. Fully accessible. Lock the door from the inside if my presence offends you."

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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...

She studied my face for a long, silent moment, looking for the monster everyone whispered about. What she found was just a man determined to protect what was his—even if he couldn't stand to defend it on his own two feet.

"Fine," she whispered. "Just... don't send Luke to check on me. He looks like he eats glass for breakfast."

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