Sophie Miller was a ghost in the upscale Chicago restaurant, Ljardan. At 24, she navigated the chaotic dinner rush, an invisible presence refilling water glasses, clearing crumbs, and diligently ignoring the hushed conversations about power, money, and illicit deals that drifted from the VIP section. Her nursing degree felt like a distant dream, each double shift pushing it further out of reach. Tonight, she was covering for a sick colleague, hoping for the good tips that came with serving Dominic Moretti.

Dominic Moretti was not just a man; he was a legend, a phantom who commanded silence like a weapon. He owned half of Chicago, his presence making the kitchen staff fall quiet. He was handsome in a terrifying, jagged way – dark, intelligent eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, and a suit tailored to perfection. Across from him sat Vanessa, his girlfriend, a vision of blonde beauty and polished perfection. She laughed, touched his arm, playing the part of the adoring partner with flawless precision.

Sophie adjusted her apron, her mind on the water pitcher, when a sharp, hushed voice caught her attention. It was coming from the women’s lounge, the door slightly ajar. “I’m telling you, he’s totally relaxed,” the voice hissed. Sophie froze, pressing herself against the hallway wall, clutching the pitcher. It was Vanessa. Her voice was cold, clinical, stripped of all the warmth Sophie had seen at the table. “No, he has no idea. The security detail is light tonight. He sent Rocco away to deal with the warehouse issue. It’s just him and the driver out back. If you’re going to hit him, it has to be when we walk out. Do you have the corner covered? Good. Don’t miss. I want the money transferred by midnight.”

Sophie’s heart hammered against her ribs. A hit. They were going to kill Dominic Moretti tonight, right outside Ljardan. She heard the click of a phone and the rustle of silk. Sophie scrambled back into the kitchen just as Vanessa stepped out, checking her makeup, a picture of serene composure.

“Stay out of it!” her brain screamed. This wasn’t her world. These people killed witnesses. If she did nothing, Dominic would die. If she spoke up, she might die with him. She looked through the kitchen door’s porthole window. Dominic checked his watch, looking bored, calm, human. He didn’t know the woman holding his hand was counting down to his execution.

Sophie grabbed a clean napkin and a pen. Her hands trembled, almost dropping the pen. She scribbled four sentences, clear and urgent: “Your girlfriend sold you out. They’re in position outside. Don’t walk out the front. Do not react.” She folded the napkin into a tight square, placing it on her tray under a fresh wine glass. “Table four needs a refill!” the floor manager barked. “Move it, Miller!” Sophie took a deep breath. She was walking into a lion’s den, and she was about to poke the beast.

She approached table four. Vanessa was mid-sentence, talking about a weekend trip to the Hamptons—a trip Dominic would never take. “More wine, sir?” Sophie asked, her voice steady, an act of pure will. Dominic didn’t look up immediately. He was swirling the red wine in his glass, his eyes distant. “Please.” Sophie reached over. This was the moment. She placed the fresh glass down, pressing her thumb hard onto the folded napkin, sliding it directly under Dominic’s hand on the tablecloth. It was a clumsy, risky move.

Dominic’s hand flinched. He felt the paper. Sophie froze. If he pulled it out, asked “What is this?” in front of Vanessa, they were both dead. Dominic stopped moving. He didn’t look at the paper. He didn’t look at Vanessa. Slowly, deliberately, he looked up at Sophie. His eyes were terrifying, dark, intelligent, and now, confused. He studied her face, memorizing her messy bun, her name tag, the fear she couldn’t hide. Sophie held his gaze, then flicked her eyes down to the napkin, then to Vanessa, then back to him. Read it, she pleaded silently.

Dominic’s fingers curled over the napkin, palming it with the skill of a magician, bringing his hand to his lap seamlessly. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a low, emotionless rumble. “Let me get you some fresh water as well,” Sophie said, backing away, needing distance from the blast radius. She watched from the server station, her heart in her throat. Under the table, Dominic must have unfolded the note. Sophie saw his posture change, a subtle tightening of the shoulders, a stillness that settled over him like a predator scenting the air. He placed the glass down. He smiled at Vanessa. It was a wolf’s smile.

“Darling,” Dominic said, loud enough for Sophie to hear over the clinking silverware. “I think I left my phone in the coat check. Stay here a moment.” Vanessa blinked. “Oh, I can get it for you, Dom.” “No,” he said, the word soft but sharp like a hammer. “Sit. Drink your wine.” Vanessa hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing her perfect face. But she sat. Dominic stood. He didn’t go to the coat check. He walked straight toward the kitchen, his stride long and purposeful.

He pushed through the swinging doors, startling the head chef. Sophie was by the ice machine. She gasped as Dominic locked eyes with her, crossing the kitchen in three strides, crowding her against the cold steel. The kitchen staff went silent, knives hovering mid-air. “Is this real?” Dominic whispered, holding up the crumpled napkin. His voice carried the weight of a death sentence. “Yes,” Sophie whispered. “I heard her in the bathroom. She said the security is light. They’re waiting at the corner. She wants the money by midnight.”

Dominic stared, assessing her truthfulness. He saw none. “What’s your name?” “Sophie.” “Sophie,” he tested the name. “You just started a war.” “I just didn’t want you to die on my shift,” she stammered. Dominic let out a short, dark laugh, then pulled a gun from his jacket. The sous chef dropped a pan. Clang. “Nobody leaves this kitchen,” Dominic announced, his voice commanding. “If you value your lives, you get on the floor now.” The staff scrambled. Sophie stood frozen. “Not you,” Dominic said. He grabbed her wrist, his grip iron. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? No!” Sophie pulled back. “I helped you! Let me go!” “You’re a loose end, Sophie,” Dominic said, scanning the back exit. “If Vanessa sees you warned me, her people will kill you before the police arrive. You’re in this now.” Before she could argue, the front of the restaurant exploded. BOOM! Glass shattered. Screams erupted from the dining room. “They hadn’t waited for him to walk out. They were coming in. They got impatient,” Dominic growled. He yanked Sophie behind a heavy stove just as the kitchen doors flew open. Two men in ski masks burst in, automatic rifles raised. They weren’t looking for a waitress; they were looking for the king of Chicago.

Dominic didn’t hesitate. He raised his handgun and fired twice. Bang. Bang. Both men dropped, clean headshots. Sophie screamed, covering her ears. The smell of gunpowder and seared meat filled the small space. “Move!” Dominic roared, dragging her up. “Out the back now!” They burst into the alleyway. Cold Chicago air hit Sophie’s face, sharp and biting. It was raining. Of course, it was raining. “My car is—” Dominic started, looking toward the end of the alley. A black SUV screeched around the corner, blocking the exit. Men piled out. “Vanessa really wants that money,” Dominic muttered.

He looked at Sophie, shivering, terrified, her apron stained with grease. He looked at the fire escape ladder, ten feet above them. “Can you climb?” he asked. “I… I don’t know.” “Learn,” he said. He grabbed her waist and hoisted her up. Sophie grabbed the rusty rungs, her fingernails scraping metal. Adrenaline gave her strength she didn’t know she had. She hauled herself up, expecting Dominic to be right behind her. He was standing his ground, firing back at the SUV to buy them time. Bullets chipped the brickwork around him. “Dominic!” she screamed, using his name for the first time. He looked up, surprised. He holstered his weapon, jumped, and caught the bottom rung one-handed, swinging himself up with terrifying grace as trash cans below them were riddled with bullets.

They scrambled onto the roof, sirens wailing in the distance. Dominic kicked open the roof access door and shoved her inside. They were in the maintenance stairwell of the adjacent building. He leaned against the door, panting slightly. He checked his magazine—empty—and reloaded with a spare clip. The adrenaline faded, leaving Sophie shaking violently. Dominic stepped closer, reaching out to touch her face, his thumb brushing away a smear of dirt. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who had just killed two people. “You saved my life, Sophie,” he said softly. “But now your life as a waitress is over. You belong to the family now.” Sophie looked up, eyes wide. “Is that a thank you or a threat?” Dominic’s lips quirked into that dangerous, captivating smile again. “Both.”The “safe house” was a sprawling, industrial-chic penthouse atop an abandoned textile factory in the meatpacking district. The elevator opened directly into the living room. Dominic shoved Sophie gently inside, punched a code into a keypad, and heavy steel shutters descended over the floor-to-ceiling windows, sealing them off from the city lights. Sophie shivered, the adrenaline crash leaving her cold and nauseous. Her uniform was ruined, her hair a mess. She was in the home of a man who solved problems with bullets.

Dominic poured two glasses of amber liquid at a wet bar, downing one in a single swallow. He carried the other to Sophie. “Drink,” he commanded. “It’s brandy. It will stop the shaking.” Sophie stared at the glass. “I don’t want brandy. I want to go home. I have a cat, Dominic. I have a pharmacology exam on Monday.” Dominic let out a dry, humorless chuckle, setting the glass on a marble coaster. “You don’t have an exam, Sophie. You don’t have a job at Ljardan anymore. And if you go back to your apartment tonight, you won’t have a pulse.”

“You can’t just kidnap me!” Sophie shouted, her fear turning to anger. Dominic moved closer, invading her space. He smelled of expensive cologne, rain, and gunpowder. “Vanessa knows you saw her. She knows you warned me. If I let you walk out that door, her associates—the Falcone Crime Family, if my guess is right—will hunt you down. They don’t leave witnesses. You are safer in this room with me than you are anywhere else on Earth.” He pulled a burner phone from his pocket. “Rocco, it’s me,” Dominic said, his eyes never leaving Sophie. “I’m alive. The dinner was a setup. Vanessa turned. I’m at the loft. Bring the medical kit and the laptop. And Rocco, come alone. If I see anyone else, I start shooting.”

He hung up. “Go shower. There are clothes in the master bedroom closet. Put them on. You look like a target in that uniform.” Sophie hesitated, then grabbed the brandy and downed it. The burn was grounding. She marched past him into the bedroom. The bathroom was larger than her entire apartment. As she washed the grease and fear off her skin, she tried to process the last hour. She had saved a monster, and now she was his pet. But as the hot water hit her back, she remembered the look in his eyes when he pulled her up the fire escape. He hadn’t looked at her like prey; he had looked at her like a partner.

She walked into the closet wrapped in a towel. It was filled with men’s suits, but in the back were a few women’s items—not Vanessa’s style, too edgy, too dark. She found a black cashmere sweater and a pair of leggings. They fit perfectly. When she returned to the living room, Dominic was sitting on a leather sofa, stripping down a semi-automatic pistol on the coffee table. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle and ink. He looked up. The air in the room shifted, becoming heavy, charged. “Better,” he said.

“Who is Vanessa really?” Sophie asked, sitting in an armchair furthest from him. “She isn’t just a girlfriend, is she?” Dominic slid the barrel back into place with a metallic click. “Vanessa is… was my fiancée. We were supposed to merge our families, the Morettis and the Concades. It was a business arrangement that turned comfortable.” “She tried to kill you for money,” Sophie reminded him. “Not just money,” Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave. “Power. If I die, the territories are split. But she didn’t just want me dead. She wanted me humiliated, killed at dinner in public. It’s a statement.”

“So what happens now?” Dominic stood and walked to the window, peering through a slat in the shutters. “Now I die.” Sophie blinked. “What?” “To catch a traitor, you have to let them think they’ve won.” Dominic turned back, a cruel glint in his eye. “As far as the city knows, Dominic Moretti died in that alleyway tonight. And while they celebrate, we are going to burn their kingdom to the ground.”

The elevator pinged. Sophie jumped. Dominic raised his gun instantly. The doors opened, revealing a massive man with a shaved head and a scar through his eyebrow, holding a duffel bag with raised hands. “It’s just me, boss,” the man rumbled. Rocco. Dominic lowered his gun. “Lock it down.” Rocco hit the keypad, then looked at Sophie, his eyes narrowed. “Who’s the girl? Is she the leak?” “She’s the reason I’m breathing,” Dominic said. “Her name is Sophie. She’s with us.” Rocco didn’t look convinced but nodded. “Boss, it’s bad. Word on the street is you took two in the chest. Vanessa is already calling a sit-down with the five families for tomorrow night. She’s claiming the Falcones hit you and she barely escaped. She’s playing the grieving widow to take control of your assets.”

Dominic laughed, a terrifying sound. “She wastes no time. What about the accounts? Frozen or drained?” Rocco, unpacking a laptop, said, “She had my access codes, Dom. She must have cloned my phone. We have zero liquidity. We can’t pay the soldiers. If we don’t pay them by morning, they flip to her side.” Dominic ran a hand through his hair. For the first time, he looked tired. “We need cash fast, or I have no army.”

Sophie cleared her throat. Both men looked at her. “The Cayman accounts,” she said softly. Dominic frowned. “What?” “In the bathroom,” Sophie said, stepping forward. “When she was on the phone, before she talked about the hit, she mentioned numbers. I have a good memory for numbers. It’s a waitress thing. You have to remember order codes.” “What did she say?” Dominic demanded, stepping closer. Sophie rattled off a string of numbers. “Then she said, ‘Transfer the secondary fund to the Cayman shell.’ She repeated the authorization code, Alpha 79 Tango.”

Dominic looked at Rocco, who was typing furiously. “If she moved the secondary fund, that’s $50 million, but she can’t access it until the bank opens in the Caymans. That’s tomorrow morning.” “I’m in the Shell Company interface,” Rocco muttered. “She initiated the transfer, but it’s pending. It needs a second authorization.” “She has my biometric key,” Dominic cursed. “She took my tablet from the car.” “No,” Sophie said, her mind racing, her nursing background kicking in. “She doesn’t need your tablet. She needs you.” Dominic stared at her. “Explain.”

“She didn’t just want you dead,” Sophie realized. “If she wanted you dead, she would have poisoned the wine. She wanted you shot. Why? Because she needs proof of death. No, she needs a body. Does your biometric key require a fingerprint?” “Yes.” “And a pulse?” Sophie asked. Dominic went still. “No, just the print.” “She’s going to come for your body,” Sophie said, her voice trembling. “She needs your finger to finalize the transfer. If she thinks you’re dead in that alley, she’ll be looking for the corpse at the morgue.” “But there is no corpse,” Rocco said. “The cops didn’t find one.” Dominic smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. “Then we need to give her one.”

“The plan is insanity!” Sophie said repeatedly as Rocco drove the nondescript van through the rainy streets of Chicago. “You want to break into the city morgue?” Sophie hissed, clutching the seatbelt. “And play dead while a woman who wants to kill you stands over you?” “I need to get close enough to her to get the location of the meeting,” Dominic said calmly from the back, cleaning his weapons. “And I need her to unlock that account so Rocco can reverse the transfer. Once she uses my print, the channel is open for 60 seconds. Rocco will be remote-hacking the signal. He steals the money back. I wake up. We take Vanessa.” “It’s suicide,” Sophie muttered. “It’s Tuesday,” Dominic replied.

They pulled up to the rear loading dock of the Cook County Morgue. Rocco had connections—a night shift attendant named Larry who owed Dominic a gambling debt. Ten minutes later, Sophie, dressed in oversized scrubs, stood in a refrigerated room filled with steel tables. The smell of formaldehyde made her gag. Larry, a nervous man with sweat stains, pointed to a slab. “I put him as a John Doe from the alley shooting. But listen, Mr. Moretti, if the cops come in, you didn’t see me.” Dominic stripped off his shirt. Sophie tried not to stare. His chest was a roadmap of violence—scars from knives, bullets, things she didn’t want to imagine. But beneath them, the body was perfect, sculpted.

He lay down on the cold steel table. “Sophie, you have to do the makeup. Make me look dead. Pale, blue lips. Use the kit Larry gave you.” Sophie’s hands shook as she applied theatrical makeup to his warm skin. Touching him felt electric. She traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck. He watched her, his eyes intense. “You have gentle hands,” he whispered. “I’m a nurse, remember?” she whispered back, leaning in close to dab gray powder under his eyes. Their faces were inches apart. For a second, the morgue vanished; there was just the heat between them. “Sophie,” he murmured. “Don’t talk,” she said, her voice breathless. “You’re supposed to be dead.” “When this is over,” he said. “I’m taking you to dinner. A real dinner. No shooters.” “Focus on staying alive first.” She pulled the white sheet up to his chin. “Here they come,” Rocco hissed from the doorway. “Hide.” Sophie scrambled behind a rack of supplies. Rocco vanished.

The double doors swung open. Two large men in suits walked in, followed by the clicking of high heels. Vanessa. She looked stunning in a black trench coat, her eyes dry and hard. She walked straight to the table Larry pointed to. “Is this him?” she asked, her voice showing zero emotion. “Yes, ma’am,” one of the guards said. “Found in the alley. No ID, but it matches the description.” Vanessa reached out and pulled back the sheet. Sophie held her breath. Dominic was motionless, not breathing. He had mastered a technique to shallow his breath so effectively he appeared catatonic.

Vanessa stared at Dominic’s face. She didn’t cry, didn’t flinch. She smiled. “Goodbye, my love,” she sneered. “You really were too arrogant for your own good.” She pulled a tablet from her bag, then grabbed Dominic’s right hand. Sophie watched, terrified. If Dominic flinched, he was dead. The guards had their hands on their holstered guns. Vanessa pressed Dominic’s thumb onto the scanner. “Beep.” “Access granted,” the tablet’s robotic voice announced. “Transferring funds now,” Vanessa muttered, tapping the screen. In the van outside, Rocco was typing furiously. “Come on, come on. Gotcha!” “Transfer complete,” Vanessa said. She looked at the guard. “Cut off the hand. I might need it for the safety deposit box later.”

Sophie gasped. She couldn’t help it. Vanessa’s head snapped toward the supply rack. “What was that?” The guard drew his gun. “Someone’s in here!” Dominic’s eyes flew open. He sat up on the slab like a rising demon, grabbing the surgical scalpel tray next to him. In one fluid motion, he flung the tray at the guard. Scalpels and scissors rained down. The guard flinched, firing a shot into the ceiling. “He’s alive!” Vanessa screamed, stumbling back. Dominic rolled off the table, naked from the waist up, roaring. He tackled the second guard, slamming his head into the steel table with a sickening crunch. The guard dropped.

The first guard aimed at Dominic. Sophie grabbed a glass jar of specimen fluid from the shelf and hurled it. It smashed against the guard’s head, blinding him with chemical liquid. “My eyes!” he screamed. Dominic grabbed the guard’s gun, spun, and aimed at Vanessa. But Vanessa was fast. She bolted through the doors, locking them from the outside with a heavy thud. “Damn it!” Dominic shouted, kicking the reinforced steel door. “The funds!” Dominic yelled into his earpiece. “We got them back,” Rocco’s voice crackled. “But she’s getting away. She’s heading for the loading dock.” “We need another way out,” Dominic said. He looked at Sophie, panting, chest heaving. “You… you were going to let her cut off your hand?” she asked. “I was waiting for the right moment,” he grinned, adrenaline high. “Nice throw, by the way.” “I hate this,” Sophie said, grabbing a towel to wipe the makeup off his face. “I hate this life.” “You’re good at it, though,” Dominic said, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the ventilation shaft. “Come on, we have a meeting to crash.”

Vanessa had escaped, but they had the money. The balance of power had shifted, but the war wasn’t over. Vanessa would assume Dominic was trapped at the morgue. She would proceed with her plan: the consolidation of power at the mayor’s charity gala that night. It was the biggest event of the year, neutral ground where weapons were forbidden, filled with corrupt politicians, crooked cops, and crime bosses. “It’s the only place she feels safe,” Dominic said as they regrouped at the safe house. He was dressed in a fresh tuxedo, looking every bit the prince of the city.

“So, we just walk in?” Sophie asked. She wore a breathtaking emerald green gown Dominic had Rocco procure. It had a slit up the thigh that made her feel exposed, but Dominic insisted she needed to look the part of a distractingly beautiful companion. “We walk in, we look them in the eye, and we reveal she’s a fraud,” Dominic said. “But we need leverage. Vanessa isn’t working alone. She has a partner, someone powerful enough to sanction a hit on me.” “The Falcones?” Rocco asked. “No,” Dominic said, adjusting his cufflinks. “The Falcones are brute force. This was surgical. This feels political.”

They arrived at the Art Institute of Chicago, where the gala was held. The press was everywhere. Cameras flashed as Dominic stepped out of the limousine. A ripple of shock went through the crowd. The man rumored to be dead was walking the red carpet, more alive than ever, with a stunning mystery woman on his arm. Sophie clung to his arm. “Everyone is staring.” “Let them stare,” Dominic whispered, his lips brushing her lobe. “Keep your head high. You are the queen tonight.” Inside, the ballroom was a sea of diamonds and champagne. The moment they entered, the music faltered. Conversations died. Across the room, on the grand staircase, stood Vanessa, champagne flute in hand, laughing with an older man in a gray suit. When she saw Dominic, she turned chalk white. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered. The man next to her didn’t look shocked; he looked annoyed. Dominic stiffened. “I knew it.” “Who is he?” Sophie whispered. “Senator Sterling,” Dominic growled. “The man who controls the zoning permits for the docks. He’s not a mobster. He’s the government.”

Vanessa composed herself quickly, whispering something to the senator. Three large men in suits—Secret Service types, not street thugs—began to move through the crowd. “We have company,” Sophie said. “Stick to the plan,” Dominic said. “Dance with me.” “What? Dance?” He pulled her onto the floor. The orchestra, sensing tension, nervously began a waltz. Dominic swept Sophie into the crowd, using other dancers as shields. “They can’t touch us here. Too many cameras,” Dominic said, spinning her. “Vanessa is running towards the exit,” Sophie said, looking over his shoulder. “Rocco is waiting at the exit,” Dominic smirked. “But the senator, he’s the problem. If he’s involved, this goes all the way to the top.”

Suddenly, the music stopped. Senator Sterling took the microphone on stage. “Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice boomed. “I’m afraid we have an uninvited guest, a criminal who has broken into this sanctuary of charity. Security, please escort Mr. Moretti out.” The crowd murmured. The three security guards lunged. Dominic didn’t run. He let go of Sophie and held up his hands. “Senator,” Dominic’s voice projected across the silent hall. “Before you throw me out, you might want to ask your partner, Vanessa, where the bribe money went.” The senator froze. “$50 million,” Dominic announced, turning to the crowd. “Stolen from my accounts today, transferred to a shell company. But guess whose name is on the shell company?” He pulled the folded napkin from his pocket—the one Sophie had written on, but now with a new note on the back. Dominic held it up. “I have the bank records. Senator Sterling is the beneficiary.”

It was a bluff, a massive, dangerous bluff. They had the money back, but they didn’t know for sure if the senator was on the account. It was a guess based on the zoning permits. The senator’s face turned purple. “Lies! Get him out of here!” “If I leave, the evidence goes to the press!” Dominic shouted. The room dissolved into chaos. People pulled out phones, recording. In the confusion, Sophie saw something: a red laser dot dancing on Dominic’s chest. It was coming from the balcony. A sniper. “Dominic, get down!” Sophie screamed. She threw herself at him, tackling him to the polished floor just as a gunshot cracked through the air. CRACK. The bullet meant for Dominic’s heart shattered a magnum of champagne on a waiter’s tray behind them. Screams erupted. The gala turned into a stampede.

Dominic rolled, covering Sophie’s body with his own. He looked at the balcony. “Rocco!” he yelled into his cufflink mic. “Balcony, north side—on it!” Dominic looked down at Sophie beneath him. Her eyes were wide, terror-filled, but she was alive. “Two,” he said breathlessly. “That’s twice you’ve saved me.” “I’m expecting a really big tip,” she managed to choke out. Dominic laughed, a wild sound. He pulled her up. “Let’s go. The senator just missed. Now it’s my turn.” They ran towards the kitchen exit, but this time they weren’t running away; they were hunting.

The senator was trying to flee through the service corridor, fumbling with his phone, sweating profusely. Dominic kicked the doors open. The senator yelped, dropping his phone. Dominic stalked toward him, eyes blazing. “You try to steal my city. You try to kill me. And you try to shoot the woman I—” He stopped. Sophie looked at him. The woman he…? Dominic grabbed the senator by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. “Who gave the order? Was it you, or was it someone higher?” “It—it wasn’t me,” the senator blubbered. “I just wanted the money. It was him. He made me do it!” “Who?” Dominic roared. “Your father!” the senator screamed.

Dominic froze. Sophie froze. “My father is dead,” Dominic whispered. “He died ten years ago.” “No!” the senator wept. “He’s alive. He’s been in exile. He wants his throne back, Dominic! He thinks you’re too soft. He sent Vanessa. He sent me. He’s coming back to Chicago tonight!” Dominic released the senator, stumbling back as if punched. “My father.” Sophie reached out to touch his arm. “Dominic.” He looked at her, and for the first time, Sophie saw true fear in the eyes of the mafia boss. “If my father is alive,” Dominic whispered, “then we are all already dead. He is the devil himself.”

The revelation that Victoriao Moretti was alive hit Dominic harder than any bullet. Victoriao was a myth, a tyrant who had ruled Chicago with a brutality that made Dominic’s reign look like a charity organization. He had supposedly died of a heart attack in Palermo a decade ago. But in their world, death was often just a strategic retirement. “We have to leave,” Dominic said, his voice hollow. “We have to get out of the city. If he’s back, he’ll have loyalists everywhere. People I trust, people I grew up with. They’ll turn on me in a heartbeat.”

“We’re not running,” Sophie said firmly. They were in the back of Rocco’s van again, speeding away from the chaos of the gala. The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, matching the storm inside the van. Dominic looked at her, his eyes haunted. “You don’t understand, Sophie. You don’t know him. He will burn this city to ash just to see if I cough on the smoke. I can’t win against him.” “You already did,” Sophie said. She grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at her. “You built something different. Loyalty. Respect. Your men didn’t follow you because they were terrified. They followed you because you were fair. If you run, you prove him right. You prove you’re too soft.”

Dominic stared at her. The emerald dress was torn at the hem. Her hair was wild, but she looked fierce, a warrior queen. “Where is he?” Dominic asked Rocco, who looked pale at the news of the old boss’s return. Rocco swallowed hard. “The senator’s phone. I tracked the last call. It came from the old slaughterhouse on the south side.” “Of course,” Dominic muttered. “Where it all started. It’s a trap.” Rocco said. “I know,” Dominic checked his weapon. “But it’s the only place this ends.” He turned to Sophie. “Rocco is going to take you to the airfield. There’s a plane waiting. Go to Paris. Wait for me.” “No,” Sophie said. “Sophie, no!” she shouted. “I am not the girl in the tower waiting to be saved. I’m the one who passed you the note. I’m the one who saved you in the morgue. I’m the one who spotted the sniper. I am in this, Dominic, whether you like it or not.”

Dominic looked at her for a long, agonizing moment. Then he leaned in and kissed her. It was desperate, passionate, a kiss that tasted of goodbyes and promises. “If we die tonight,” he whispered against her lips, “I want you to know that you were the only real thing that ever happened to me.” “Then let’s not die,” she whispered back.

The old slaughterhouse was a decaying cathedral of rust and brick. Thunder rolled overhead as they pulled up. The yard was empty. No guards, no cars. Just the dark, gaping mouth of the entrance. “He wants a private audience,” Dominic said. He got out of the van. “Rocco, stay here. If anyone else shows up, hold them off.” “Sophie, stay with Rocco,” Dominic ordered. Sophie nodded, but her eyes said otherwise. As soon as Dominic disappeared into the shadows, she turned to Rocco. “Give me a gun.” Rocco blinked. “Boss said—” “The boss is walking into a room with a man who wants to kill him! He needs backup! Give me a gun, Rocco, or I swear I will drive this van through the wall!” Rocco sighed, reached under his seat, and handed her a small, snub-nosed revolver. “Safety is off. Don’t shoot your foot.” Sophie took it. It was heavy. She slipped out into the rain, following Dominic’s footsteps.

Inside, the slaughterhouse smelled of old iron and damp earth. Dominic stood in the center of the main killing floor, illuminated by a single hanging bulb. At the far end, sitting on a wooden crate like it was a throne, was an old man, frail, leaning on a cane, but his eyes were sharp black beads. Victoriao Moretti. Standing next to him, looking smug, was Vanessa. “You look well, boy,” Victoriao rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. “You look dead, father,” Dominic replied, his hand hovering near his gun. “Disappointment ages a man,” Victoriao spat. “I gave you a kingdom, and you turned it into a business. You negotiate. You compromise. You are weak.” “I brought peace,” Dominic said. “Profits are up. The streets are quiet.” “Peace is for the dead!” Victoriao roared, slamming his cane. “Fear is power. Vanessa understands that. She has the stomach for it.”

Vanessa stepped forward, a gun in her hand. “It’s over, Dom. The families are with us. The senator is with us. You’re just a memory.” “You’re right,” Dominic said softly. “I am different.” He raised his hands, showing he wasn’t drawing his weapon. “Shoot him!” Victoriao ordered Vanessa. Vanessa raised the gun, aiming at Dominic’s chest. “Wait!” Sophie stepped out from the shadows, the revolver shaking in her grip. Victoriao laughed. “Who is this? The waitress? This is your shield, Dominic? A servant?” “She’s not a servant,” Dominic said, his eyes locked on his father. “She’s the one who outsmarted you. She’s the reason Vanessa failed at the restaurant. She’s the reason the senator failed at the gala. She has more courage in her little finger than you have in your entire empire.” Victoriao sneered. “Kill them both.”

Vanessa tightened her finger on the trigger. BANG! The shot echoed like a cannon blast. Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain, but she didn’t fall. Vanessa dropped the gun, looking down at her chest where a red blossom was spreading on her white blouse. She looked back at Victoriao, confused. Victoriao was holding a smoking pistol. He had shot her. Vanessa crumpled to the floor, dead. Dominic didn’t flinch. Sophie gasped. “She was useful,” Victoriao said, putting his gun down on the crate. “But she failed twice. I don’t tolerate failure.” He looked at Dominic. “Now it’s just us, father and son. I can make another heir, Dominic. I can’t make another empire. Step aside. Let me run the city, or die.”

Dominic looked at the body of the woman he had once planned to marry. Then he looked at Sophie, standing brave and terrified in the rain-soaked dress. He realized then that he didn’t want the empire. He didn’t want the crown. He wanted the girl. “No,” Dominic said. Victoriao raised his gun again, but he was old and slow. Dominic drew his weapon with a speed that blurred the air. BANG! Victoriao’s gun flew out of his hand, spun away by Dominic’s bullet. The old man clutched his hand, howling in rage. “I’m not going to kill you, father,” Dominic said, walking forward. He kicked the gun away. “Because that’s what you would do, and I am not you.” Sirens began to wail in the distance. Real police, not the ones on the payroll. “The senator talked,” Dominic said. “The feds are coming. They know everything. The shell companies, the hits, the faked death. You’re going to prison, old man, for the rest of your miserable life.” Victoriao stared at him with pure hatred. “You destroy your own family!” “You are not my family.” Dominic turned his back on him. He walked towards Sophie, took the gun from her shaking hand, and holstered it. “Let’s go,” he said. “Where?” she asked. “Anywhere.” They walked out into the rain, leaving the old king to scream at the ghosts in the darkness.

Three months later, the small cafe in Florence, Italy, was quiet. The sun was warm on the cobblestones. Sophie placed a cappuccino on table four. “Here you go,” she said in passable Italian. The customer, a man in a linen shirt and sunglasses, lowered his paper. “I didn’t order this,” Dominic said, smiling. “It’s on the house,” Sophie smiled back, wiping her hands on her apron. “The owner has a crush on you.” Dominic laughed. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the chair opposite him. “How is nursing school?” he asked. “Hard,” she admitted. “But the Italian terminology is interesting.” “How is retirement?” “Boring,” Dominic said. “I haven’t been shot at in weeks. It’s unsettling.” “I prefer it this way,” Sophie said, tracing the scar on his hand.

News from Chicago had been explosive. Victoriao Moretti arrested. The Falcone family dismantled. The senator indicted. The empire had crumbled, just as Dominic predicted. But Dominic Moretti was officially dead. The man sitting in front of her was named Luca, a private investor with a quiet life. “You know,” Dominic said, leaning in. “I was thinking about that note you slipped me.” “Oh, yeah. ‘Your girlfriend sold you out.’ It was a good line.” “I have better ones,” Sophie teased. “Like what?” Sophie took a napkin from the holder, wrote something on it, and slid it across the table. Dominic picked it up. “Will you marry me?” He looked up, stunned. Sophie shrugged. “I figured I’d ask before someone else tries to kill you.” Dominic laughed, a sound full of genuine joy, something he had never possessed in Chicago. He took the pen from her hand, crossed out the question mark, and wrote one word: “Yes.” He leaned across the table and kissed her, right there in the sunlight, in a world far away from the shadows. The waitress and the king, rewriting their own ending.