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 8 / 20

Chapter 8 - Blood and Brotherhood

My older brother, Thomas, had chosen a badge instead of a syndicate. As the senior federal prosecutor for the Northern District of Illinois, he had spent a decade trying to build a cage for me—and failing.

The heavy oak doors of my study pushed open, and Thomas strode in, flanked by two armed federal marshals. His tailored suit was immaculate, his silver-streaked hair matching the cold, judgmental look in his eyes.

"Daniel," he said, scanning the multimillion-dollar room with thinly veiled disgust. "Still playing king of the underworld from your rolling throne."

I didn't flinch. I rolled my chair forward to meet him, my eyes locked on his. "Thomas. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did the local precinct run out of donuts, or are you just missing the smell of failure?"

Thomas's jaw tightened. He glanced past me and noticed Emma standing quietly by the bookshelf. A flicker of cruel satisfaction crossed his face.

"I see you've found a new employee to terrorize," Thomas sneered, stepping closer. "Well, Danny, your little game is over. We tracked the offshore servers that took down the North Side. The routing data leads straight back to encrypted nodes registered under a dummy corporation controlled by... you."

Emma gasped, stepping forward. "That's impossible, he just helped—"

"Quiet, miss," Thomas snapped, pulling a folded document from his leather briefcase. "This is a federal conspiracy charge. By helping you dismantle the North Side, my brother effectively eliminated his competition to consolidate a complete monopoly over Chicago's shipping ports. I'm arresting him under RICO."

The marshals stepped forward, their hands resting on their cuffs. Luke and my security detail instantly materialized in the doorway, their weapons drawn, a Mexican standoff igniting in the middle of my private study.

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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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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

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"Stand down, Luke," I commanded, my voice cold as ice. I looked up at my brother, a dangerous, calculating glint in my eyes. "You think you've finally trapped me, Tom?"

"I know I have," Thomas smiled, stepping forward to snap the cuffs on my wrists. "You're finished."

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