The heavy oak doors of Adrian Cross’s Lincoln Park ballroom groaned as they slammed open, the resonant echo cutting through the string quartet’s performance like a physical blow. Conversations died mid-sentence.

The sub-zero wind hit me like a slap of reality the moment I stepped out of the Gilded Rook. The adrenaline that had sustained me through the confrontation in the lounge was rapidly wearing off, leaving behind a hollow, shivering exhaustion. I clutched the black leather ledger tightly against my chest, my breath pluming in the freezing air as I walked briskly down the dimly lit South Loop sidewalk.

I didn't go back to Lake Forest. I knew Dominic would be waiting there, and I wasn't ready to face whatever came next in that mausoleum of a mansion. Instead, I hailed a cab and gave the driver an address in the heart of downtown—a sleek, anonymous high-rise apartment building where Tessa lived.

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting on Tessa’s plush white sofa, wrapped in a heated blanket with a steaming mug of black tea between my hands. Tessa paced back and forth across the hardwood floor, her eyes wide with disbelief as I laid out every single detail of the night: the confrontation in the study, the red dress, the explosive standoff at Adrian’s club, and the revelation about Vanguard Holdings.

“You slapped a mafia boss,” Tessa whispered, stopping dead in her tracks to stare at me like I had grown a second head. “Claire, do you realize what Dominic Russo does to people who cross him? Let alone people who physically assault him in front of his entire crew?”

“He didn't touch me,” I said quietly, staring down into the dark amber liquid of my tea. “He let me walk out.”

“Because he’s obsessed with you, you idiot!” Tessa threw her hands up in exasperation. “You think he kept you isolated for eight months just because of some convoluted money-laundering scheme? He’s a monster who built a fortress around the only thing in his miserable life that wasn't covered in blood. And you just declared war on him.”

“Not just him,” I corrected, looking up with a cold, determined glint in my eye. “I declared war on the entire system that treated me like collateral. And I’m going to use this ledger to level the playing field.”

Before Tessa could argue further, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. The screen lit up with an unknown number.

Tessa picked it up cautiously, glanced at the caller ID, and immediately pushed it toward me. “It’s a secure line. Area code downtown.”

I hesitated for a second, then picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear.

“I know you’re sitting on Tessa’s sofa in River North,” a deep, gravelly voice murmured over the line. It wasn’t Dominic. It was Adrian Cross.

My muscles instantly tensed. “How did you find me?”

“Claire, I run half the intelligence network in this city,” Adrian chuckled softly. “More importantly, your husband has locked down every major thoroughfare out of Chicago. His men are sweeping the North Side block by block. He’s tearing the city apart looking for you.”

“Let him look,” I snapped.

“He won’t stop until he burns River North to the ground,” Adrian continued, his tone turning serious. “Which is why you need a better safehouse. And I need that ledger. Come to my penthouse on Lake Shore Drive within the hour. We’re going to draft a new contract. One that leaves Dominic Russo out in the cold for good.”

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen. Tessa watched me with wide, terrified eyes.

“What did he say?” she asked.