Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Lincoln ParkThe rain hammered against the bulletproof glass of Alio’s armored Mercedes as it cut through the damp, empty streets of downtown Chicago. Tommy Keen drove in silence, glancing frequently in the rearview mirror.
"Boss," Tommy started carefully, keeping his eyes on the road. "You’re making a lot of noise over a stray. Even if the dog belongs to someone... why bring it into the estate? You know what security risks we're dealing with right now, especially with the North Side syndicate pushing on our port routes."
Alio didn't look out the window. He was staring at his right hand—the hand that had touched the mastiff’s head. There was still a faint smear of dried street grime and old blood on his cuff.
"It wasn't a stray, Tommy," Alio said, his voice dangerously low. "Did you see the way he moved?"
"He looked like a wreck, boss."
"He looked like a soldier who took shrapnel and refused to lay down," Alio corrected. "And nobody drops a Neapolitan mastiff of that pedigree in the alley behind Solace unless they want me to see it."
The car turned onto a private, gated drive winding through the heavily wooded acreage of Barrington. The Valente estate was a fortress disguised as an architectural masterpiece—stone walls, motion-tracking cameras, and a private security detail trained by former special forces operatives.
When the car pulled into the underground garage, Alio stepped out into the damp chill. Before Tommy could even open his door, Alio’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a restricted number.
Alio answered on the first ring.
"Valente," he barked.
"Good evening, Alio," a voice purred through the speaker. It was smooth, dripping with an old, familiar malice that made Alio’s blood run cold. It was a voice he hadn't heard in five years—not since the morning his mother’s car turned into a fiery inferno.
"Vance," Alio whispered, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "I thought you burned down with your warehouse in Cicero."
"Fires are tricky things, old friend. They leave a lot of ash, but some bones refuse to turn to dust," Vincent Rossi chuckled softly on the other end. "I hear you’ve taken in a stray tonight. A big, ugly dog with a bad leg. Tell me, did you check his collar yet? Or are you still too blind to see what's right in front of you?"
Alio froze, his boots planted on the concrete floor. "What did you say?"
"He was a gift, Alio. A little homecoming present from an old acquaintance," Rossi whispered, the line going dead with a sharp click.
Alio slowly lowered the phone. The air in the garage suddenly felt heavy, suffocating.
May you like
Tommy walked up, sensing the shift in his boss's demeanor. "Boss? Who was that?"
"Check the security logs for the back kitchen alley of Solace," Alio commanded, his eyes burning with a sudden, feral fury. "And get Marcus on the phone. Tell him not to let anyone near that operating room. Anyone."
