Chapter 1
Lara was twenty-eight, a Cornell graduate, and a civilian. She did not carry a gun. She did not understand the mechanics of extortion or money laundering, and she had never belonged in the violent world surrounding Adriano. She had originally been hired to manage the legitimate side of Apex Logistics. Over the following three years, she had become indispensable. She understood Adriano’s schedule better than he did. She recognized his moods before most of his capos noticed a change in his expression. She could walk into his office, close the door, and tell the most dangerous man in Chicago that he was wrong. Very few people had that privilege. Everyone in the Moretti organization understood that Lara was under Adriano’s protection. No one touched her. No one threatened her. No one even spoke to her disrespectfully unless they were prepared to answer directly to him.
That was why the call at 9:14 p.m. on a torrential Tuesday night changed everything. Adriano stood in his penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline, turning Scotch slowly inside a crystal glass, when his private phone rang.
“Boss.” Paulie’s voice shook. Paulie was a low-level soldier assigned to follow Lara discreetly after work and make sure she reached her apartment safely. “Boss, you need to get to Lower Wacker right now.”
Adriano’s hand stopped. “Speak clearly.” His voice was calm. “What happened?”
“It’s Lara,” Paulie took a breath. “She’s hit. Bad.”
Adriano said nothing.
“A car came out of nowhere. Pinned her against the concrete divider. Then the driver backed up and took off.” Paulie’s voice cracked. “I saw the plates.” Another pause. “It was one of Carmichael’s armored Maybachs.”
The glass broke in Adriano’s hand. Scotch spilled across the Persian rug. Blood ran over his fingers. Dominic Carmichael had been pushing against Moretti territory for approximately six months. Carmichael controlled an Irish-Italian faction with interests in warehousing, gambling, and port operations. His people had competed with the Morettis over union contracts and storage facilities, but the conflict had remained controlled. Cold. Transactional. No civilians. No families. No one under direct protection. Lara changed that. Hitting her was not business. It was a declaration.
“I’m 3 minutes away.” Adriano’s voice had gone quiet enough to frighten Paulie more than shouting would have. “If she stops breathing before I arrive, I will personally throw you into the river.” He ended the call.
Adriano did not call his driver. He took the keys to his Audi RS6 and left the penthouse. Rain blurred downtown Chicago as he drove. His mind worked through the circumstances. Lara had gone to a Chase Bank branch on Dearborn to retrieve encrypted flash drives containing legitimate quarterly financial records. It should have been routine. By now, she should have been home. Away from him. Away from his world. He reached Lower Wacker and stopped hard enough for the tires to scream across wet pavement. The scene looked unreal beneath neon lights and concrete. Rain blew sideways through the underground roadway. Lara’s broken umbrella lay several feet from her. Adriano opened the car door and ran. His Tom Ford suit was soaked within seconds. He dropped to his knees on the asphalt.
Lara lay on her side. Her beige trench coat was saturated with blood. Her breathing came shallow and wet. The sound tightened something inside Adriano’s chest until it felt almost impossible to breathe. “Lara,” his voice broke. He touched her face carefully. “Look at me.”
Her eyelids moved. Her glasses were destroyed, one twisted arm pressed against her cheek. “Leo…” She coughed. “…Nardo.” She was one of the few people who refused to call him boss.
“Don’t talk.” Adriano brushed wet hair away from her forehead. “The ambulance is coming.” He was lying. A public ambulance meant police. A public hospital meant witnesses, records, and vulnerabilities Carmichael could exploit.
Lara’s hand weakly caught his sleeve. “It was a black car,” she struggled for breath. “The driver.” Her eyes opened slightly. “Silver scar.” She touched the side of her own neck.
Adriano knew the man immediately. Arthur Boyle. Carmichael’s personal driver. The attack had been deliberate. “I know,” Adriano’s voice softened. “I have you.” He bent closer. “You’re going to be fine.”
A few feet away, Paulie stood holding an umbrella over them, shaking badly. “Boss, do we call the hospital?”
“No.” Adriano slipped his arms beneath Lara and lifted her. She cried out. The sound almost broke his control. “Open the Audi,” he looked at Paulie. “Call Dr. Weber.” His expression was cold. “Tell him the surgical room at Lake Forest is ready in 20 minutes or I burn his clinic down with him inside.”
The Lake Forest estate was built to look like an old private mansion. Beneath it, hidden below the wine cellar, was a fully equipped trauma center. Dr. Aris Weber, once an exceptional surgeon before gambling destroyed his medical license, worked privately for the Moretti family. By the time Adriano carried Lara through the reinforced doors, Weber and two nurses were waiting.
“Massive blunt-force trauma,” Weber began assessing her immediately. “Internal bleeding.” His hands moved quickly. “Likely spleen.” He looked lower. “Compound fractures, right tibia and femur.” Then at Adriano. “Get him out.”
Adriano remained beside the table. “If she dies, Aris—”
“If you stay inside my sterile field, she dies,” Weber looked directly at him. “You can kill me afterward.”
A nurse physically guided Adriano backward. The doors closed. He stood in the fluorescent waiting area soaked in rain and Lara’s blood. Within an hour, the room filled with senior Moretti men. Vincent Romano arrived first. Adriano’s underboss. Oldest friend. Four capos followed in leather jackets over tactical gear. Weapons were visible. Gun oil mixed with rain in the air.
“Leo,” Vincent stepped toward him. “Paulie told us Boyle was driving.”
Adriano remained facing the glass. “The men are ready.”
Vincent continued. “40 shooters loading in the West Loop.”
“We hit Carmichael’s casino.”
“We burn the dock fronts.”
“We take his brother in the suburbs.” His voice hardened. “We erase them tonight.”
May you like
The other capos nodded. The rule was simple. Blood answered blood. Someone under a Don’s protection was not touched without consequences.
“Boss,” Vincent moved closer. “Say the word.”
