The helicopter touched down on the private helipad atop the Moretti Grand Hotel just as the Chicago sun began to melt into Lake Michigan, staining the horizon the color of fresh blood.

The voice boomed through the high-vaulted ceiling, echoing off the crystal chandeliers. Leading the tactical unit was Special Agent Miller, a man Adrian had spent the last three years paying off through a complex chain of shell corporations.

Only Miller wasn't looking at Adrian with the polite deference of a bought man. He was looking at him with the cold, triumphant satisfaction of a hunter staring down a cornered wolf.

Adrian spun around, his hand instinctively reaching inside his tuxedo jacket for the concealed firearm he always carried.

"Don't do it, Adrian," I warned softly, not even blinking. "One twitch, and you prove every single charge in that indictment."

Adrian froze, his hand hovering over empty fabric. He looked around wildly. His capos were frozen, their hands raised. His political allies were already frantically backing away, trying to distance themselves from the man they had toasted just moments ago.

"Agent Miller," Adrian snarled, his voice vibrating with venom as he turned to face the federal agent. "You're making a catastrophic mistake. You don't have jurisdiction—"

"Actually, Moretti, we have complete jurisdiction," Miller interrupted, stepping forward and flashing a stack of documents thick enough to stop a bullet. "Racketeering, money laundering, obstruction of justice, witness tampering, and conspiracy to commit murder across state lines. Signed by a federal judge less than ten minutes ago."

Miller stopped a few feet away from me, nodding respectfully.

"Thank you for the complete data package, Mrs. Moretti. It made building this case remarkably straightforward."

The entire ballroom gasped. Heads whipped toward me.