Chapter 5 - The Chicago Ultimatum
The red alert flashing on the bedside terminal meant only one thing: an external breach at Pier 44, the primary maritime gateway for the Casaro family's international imports.
Myra didn't flinch. She pulled her hand away from Leo’s grip, walked over to the terminal, and pressed the master decryption key—a clearance level Leo had transferred to her biometric profile less than an hour ago.
“The Chicago syndicate is moving on our shipping containers,” Myra said, reading the digital manifest scrolling across the screen with terrifying clarity. “They know Nico has been sidelined. They think the Casaro dynasty is weak.”
Leo stood beside her, his expression darkening into a mask of pure ice. He looked down at the screen, then at Myra, who was analyzing the security camera feeds from the docks as if she had been running syndicate operations her entire life.
“Salvatore Maroni is testing us,” Leo muttered, his jaw tightening. “He thinks because my bloodline fractured tonight, he can walk into Brooklyn and take over our drug and weapon routes.”
“Then we don’t hide,” Myra said, turning her head to meet his gaze directly. “We invite him in. But we turn Pier 44 into a slaughterhouse.”
Leo’s eyes widened slightly in genuine admiration. The innocent girl who used to cry over hospital bills was completely gone, replaced by a ruthless strategist who understood the brutal calculus of survival.
“Maroni is bringing fifty heavily armed enforcers,” Leo warned, testing her resolve. “There will be blood, smoke, and fire. You could stay here, locked in the panic room, and let the capos handle it.”
“I didn't survive Nico’s humiliation just to hide in a hole while men fight my battles,” Myra said coldly. She walked over to the walk-in closet, bypassing the racks of designer dresses, and opened a steel-reinforced weapons locker using the master code Leo had just assigned her. She reached inside, pulling out a matte-black Glock 19, checking the magazine with practiced efficiency before sliding it into a holster she fastened securely around her thigh beneath the high slit of her red silk dress.
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Leo watched her, a dark, dangerous thrill rushing through his veins. For years, he had been surrounded by sycophants, traitors, and fools. In less than twelve hours, this young woman had evolved into a lethal work of art.
“Get your coat, Leo,” Myra said, locking the holster in place and turning back to him with a devastating smile. “It’s time to show Chicago who actually runs this city.”
