Chapter 5 - THE EMBASSY SIEGEThree weeks after the execution of Vittorio Calvetti, the city of Chicago belonged entirely to Dante.
The illicit operations at Pier 14 were dismantled, replaced by a secure maritime logistics network under Marco’s direct supervision. The six children were no longer hidden in the west wing; they had taken over the entire third floor of the Lincoln Park estate. Lily had her own private medical bay with round-the-clock nursing care; Marcus was being tutored by former Ivy League professors; and Tommy sat beside Dante every morning at the grand dining table, drinking orange juice while Dante read the Wall Street Journal.
I was sitting in Dante’s private study at 2:00 PM, reviewing the deed for a new ten-acre estate in Lake Forest that Dante had purchased under my name to serve as a permanent sanctuary for orphaned children.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the study burst open.
Marco rushed in, his tactical vest slung hastily over his dress shirt, holding a satellite tablet showing a pulsing red tracking signal.
“Boss! We’ve got an emergency!” Marco shouted.
Dante didn't look up from his desk. “Speak, Marco.”
“Vittorio’s international buyers—the Russian syndicate based out of the Ukrainian Village consular office—just launched a retaliation strike,” Marco reported, his voice tight with panic. “They didn't target the docks, Boss. They targeted the estate’s armored transport carrying Eleanor and the kids to the Lake Forest site twenty minutes ago!”
I stood up so fast my chair knocked against the bookshelf behind me. “What?! The kids aren't in Lake Forest! They’re upstairs in the playroom!”
Dante’s eyes snapped open. He looked up at Marco, his expression turning into something demonic. “If the kids are upstairs, who is in the transport?”
Marco swallowed hard, looking at me with absolute dread. “The decoy transport, Boss... the one carrying your financial records and Eleanor’s personal belongings... Marcus sneaked into the back of the van thirty minutes ago to grab his old baseball glove from his basement bag!”
“MARCUS!” I screamed, sprinting toward the door.
Dante grabbed my waist, pulling me back against his chest before I could bolt into the hallway.
“Marco! Where is the transport?!” Dante roared into the phone.
“The Russian consul’s private security intercepted the van on I-90,” Marco answered rapidly. “They breached the armor, took Marcus, and pulled back inside the Russian Consular Compound on Lake Shore Drive! They’re claiming diplomatic immunity! The Chicago PD has surrounded the block, but they can't cross the fence without starting an international incident!”
Dante let go of me, walked over to his weapon safe hidden behind the oil painting on the wall, and punched in a seven-digit code.
The heavy steel doors swung open, revealing an arsenal that could equip an entire special forces platoon: suppressed assault rifles, tactical explosives, body armor, and thermal optics.
“Dante,” I gasped, grabbing his arm as he pulled a heavy black tactical vest over his sweater. “That’s a foreign consulate! If you attack a diplomatic compound, the federal government will send the military after you!”
Dante pulled the straps of his vest tight, racked the slide of an HK416 assault rifle with a loud, metallic CLACK, and looked down into my eyes with an icy, terrifying calm.
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“Eleanor,” Dante whispered, leaning down to press a hard, fierce kiss against my lips. “The federal government doesn't own Chicago. I do. And no foreign rat touches Ruth’s boys while I’m alive.”
He turned to Marco. “Call every family capo from the South Side to the North Shore. Tell them to bring every heavy weapon they own. We’re tearing down a consulate.”
