The rain in Chicago had a way of turning concrete to lead, hammering against the windows of Sarah Bennett’s cramped, second-floor apartment on Halsted Street.

Sarah grabbed Julian’s arm, her eyes blazing in the dim red light. "The service tunnels. The old wine cellar has an exit leading down to the private dock."

Julian stared at her, realization dawning. "I had those sealed when we bought the property."

"The blueprints showed a manual override behind the wine racks," Sarah said urgently, remembering the architectural files she had studied when organizing the estate’s property taxes. "Move!"

They fought their way down the grand staircase, stepping past broken glass and overturned antique vases. Julian moved like a predator protecting his den, firing with lethal precision at the shadows creeping up the grand staircase. Two more men dropped, their expensive black tactical gear offering no protection against a Capo who had nothing left to lose.

They reached the heavy oak doors of the wine cellar just as a heavy explosion rocked the rear courtyard, sending a shockwave that rattled the masonry.

Marco was already there, clutching a bleeding shoulder with one hand while holding four-year-old Lily in the other, behind him a young nurse pushed Leo’s stroller. Lily was crying softly, burying her face in Marco’s chest.

"Get them down the tunnel," Julian ordered, shoving the heavy iron key into the rusted lock behind the vintage Bordeaux racks.

"Boss, you can't hold the corridor alone," Marco gasped, wincing in pain. "There’s a dozen of them coming up from the beach."

"I said go," Julian roared, his voice shaking the stone walls.

Sarah stepped forward, handing the iron fireplace poker to Marco, and grabbed Julian’s face with both hands. She kissed him hard, tasting blood and gunpowder on his lips.