Chapter 4 - The Laughter That Cracked The Stonethe Heavy Oak Doors Of The Forty-Second-Floor Office Slammed Shut Behind The Two Massive Guards As They Hauled Sal Genovese Out By His Elbows, His Expensive Suit Dragging Across The Pristine Hallway Tile. The Silence That Followed Was Entirely Different From The Heavy, Suffocating Vacuum That Had Defined Dante Marino’s Office For The Past Nine Years.

The Laughter That Cracked The Stonethe Heavy Oak Doors Of The Forty-Second-Floor Office Slammed Shut Behind The Two Massive Guards As They Hauled Sal Genovese Out By His Elbows, His Expensive Suit Dragging Across The Pristine Hallway Tile. The Silence That Followed Was Entirely Different From The Heavy, Suffocating Vacuum That Had Defined Dante Marino’s Office For The Past Nine Years.

Chapter 4

I was working late in the quiet office tower, the glowing screen of my monitor casting soft blue light across my desk as I cross-referenced the final set of offshore wire transfers. The rest of the floor was completely empty, the cleaning crew having finished their rounds an hour earlier.

Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered once and died.

The emergency red lighting kicked on, casting long, eerie shadows across the hallway.

Instantly, my instincts screamed. The secure elevator chime didn't ring; instead, I heard the faint, muffled sound of heavy combat boots stepping out onto the forty-second-floor landing.

I grabbed my phone, fingers flying across the screen to dial Dante’s private number, but before the call could connect, heavy footsteps rushed around the corner.

A large man in a dark tactical vest burst into my office. Before I could even scream, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth, and a thick canvas hood was yanked over my head, plunging me into suffocating darkness.

“Don't make a sound, sweetheart,” a gravelly voice hissed in my ear. “The boss wants a word with Dante, and you’re the VIP invitation.”

Panic surged through my veins with terrifying force. I struggled, kicking and thrashing against my captor, but my strength was no match for the bulk of the trained enforcer. I was hoisted over a muscular shoulder like a sack of grain and carried swiftly down the emergency stairwell.

As they shoved me into the back of an idling van, my mind raced. They didn't want me dead—they wanted leverage against Dante. They knew about us—or at least, they knew Dante had started paying attention to me.

Forty minutes later, the van came to a violent, screeching halt.

I was hauled out of the vehicle, dragged across cold, damp concrete, and shoved down hard onto my knees. The canvas hood was yanked off my head in a harsh, sudden motion.

The glaring halogen lights of an abandoned railway warehouse blinded me for a few seconds. When my eyes finally adjusted, I found myself kneeling in the center of a damp, cavernous industrial room surrounded by six armed men.

Standing a few feet away, leaning casually against a rusted steel pillar with a cigarette burning between his fingers, was a man I recognized from syndicate intelligence dossiers: Victor Vance, the ruthless leader of the old North Side faction.

“Well, well, well,” Victor smiled, blowing a cloud of gray smoke into the cold air. “Dante Marino’s brilliant little secretary. He’s been paying millions to keep your brother in a luxury psychiatric ward, hasn't he? Who would have guessed the ice king of Chicago had a soft spot?”

My blood ran cold. They knew about Lucas. They were going to use my brother to break Dante.

“You’re making a massive mistake,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly despite the terror gripping my chest. “Dante is going to tear this warehouse down to the foundations.”

Victor laughed, tossing his cigarette onto the concrete and grinding it out with his boot heel.

“Let him try,” Victor sneered, pulling out his phone. “I’m going to call your boss right now and invite him to your funeral.”