The morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my high-rise apartment was cold, grey, and unforgiving. On my glass coffee table sat the leather-bound document Nikolai Moretti’s lawyer had delivered precisely at eight o'clock.

I stood inside the master office of the Moretti Shipping Terminal on 14th Street. The walls were lined with dark mahogany and bulletproof glass overlooking the massive container yards below.

Julian’s arrest by his own father had sent shockwaves through the city. The Moretti Council was set to vote in less than two weeks, and with Julian facing trial for embezzlement, Nikolai’s victory seemed absolute.

Except for one thing.

"Someone is dumping cargo," I said, leaning over a massive digital display map on the oak desk.

Nikolai sat behind the desk, a lit cigar resting between his fingers, watching me with an intensity that made my skin tingle. "Explain."

"Three shipments of high-grade copper and pharmaceutical components bound for the East Coast have disappeared from Terminal 4 over the last forty-eight hours," I said, tapping the glowing screen. "The manifests were altered using my old security codes from Hart Shipping."

Nikolai’s eyes darkened. "Julian is locked in a cell at the docks. He doesn't have access to those servers."

"No," I agreed, looking up to meet his gaze. "But someone who worked with him at Hart Shipping does. Someone who knows my personal encryption keys."

The door to the office creaked open. Victor, Nikolai’s chief lieutenant—a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running from his left ear down to his neck—stepped inside.

"Boss," Victor reported grimly. "We caught the guy trying to wipe the server logs at the main yard. It’s Arthur’s chief operations officer."

I froze. "Marcus?"

Marcus had been my father’s right-hand man for fifteen years. He was the one who taught me how to read shipping manifests when I was sixteen. I had trusted him implicitly.

"Bring him in," Nikolai ordered coldly.

Two guards dragged Marcus into the office. He was soaked from the rain, his glasses crooked, his hands bound behind his back with zip-ties. He collapsed onto his knees in front of the desk, trembling violently.

"Evelyn... please!" Marcus begged, his voice cracking with fear. "You have to help me! They're going to kill me!"

I walked over to him, stopping just out of his reach. "Why were you wiping my routing logs, Marcus?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Marcus wept. "Your father... Arthur ordered me to do it! He sold the terminal access codes to the Russian syndicate in North Chicago three months ago to cover his own losses! Julian was helping him hide it!"

The realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest.

It hadn't just been Julian embezzling. My own father—the man who preached family honor, the man who let Serena humiliate me to preserve our image—was actively sabotaging his own company and selling out to the most violent criminal organization in the city.

Nikolai stood up from his chair. The broad span of his shoulders cast a long, terrifying shadow over the kneeling man. He walked over slowly, standing right beside me.

"Your father sold my perimeter security codes to Nikolai Volkov?" Nikolai asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"Yes! Yes!" Marcus cried. "Volkov promised Arthur that if Julian became head of the Moretti family, they would share control of the entire Midwest corridor! But when you brought Evelyn into the fold, the deal fell apart! Volkov told Arthur that if he didn't deliver the cargo tonight, he would slaughter the entire Hart family!"

I felt the air leave my lungs. "They're going to hit the mansion?"

"They're on their way there right now!" Marcus screamed. "Arthur, your mother, Serena... Volkov sent a hit team to clear out the estate so he can take the master deeds!"

I looked at Nikolai, my mind racing. My family had betrayed me, humiliated me, and traded me away like trash. They had stood by while Serena took my future.

By all logic, I should have let them burn.

Nikolai watched my face closely, reading every flickering emotion in my eyes. He reached into his coat, pulled out a small black-handled knife, and casually sliced Marcus’s zip-ties.

"Get out of Chicago," Nikolai told Marcus coldly. "If I see your face after sunrise, I’ll feed you to the river."

Marcus didn't wait to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and ran out the door as if the devil himself were chasing him.

Once we were alone, Nikolai turned to me. "What do you want to do, Evelyn?"

"They sold me out," I whispered, my voice shaking with a mix of fury and painful grief. "They knew about the hit. My father brought Volkov into our lives."

"They are your blood," Nikolai said softly, stepping closer and cupping my cheek with his warm, strong hand. "If you want me to let Volkov finish them, I will sit here with you and drink whiskey until it's over. If you want them saved... I will burn North Chicago to the ground."

I closed my eyes, leaning slightly into his touch. For the first time in my life, someone was asking me what I wanted, instead of telling me what I had to sacrifice.

I opened my eyes, the hesitation completely burned away.

"I don't want them killed," I said, my voice hardening like steel. "I want to be the one who saves them. Because I want my father to look me in the eye and know that the daughter he discarded was the only reason he survived the night."