“Was that Barbari?” he demanded, his posture tense as he came to stand stiffly by my side, bracing for another attack.
Aurelio appeared next, pushing through the lingering haze. Blood seeped through his shirt at the shoulder, turning the fabric dark.
“You’ve been hit,” Guilio noted, his tone flat as he holstered his gun and moved to inspect Aurelio’s wound, briefly shifting his focus from the threat to his brother’s injury.
A sudden, desperate voice cut through the lingering tension. “Massimo!”
Before I could react, my wife crashed into me, urgency and relief in every step. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly. The familiar scent of her hair and skin washed over me, soothing the terror that had threatened to consume me moments before.
Emanuelle’s voice explained, breathless, “She needed to use the bathroom. The second I heard the gunshots, I kept her hidden in the ladies’ room until it was safe to come out.”
Gratitude surged within me and, with shaking hands, I pulled Emanuelle into a hug, planting a kiss against the side of his head. “Thank you, brother. Thank you.”
Above the rapid thrum of my heart and the scattered voices, Aurelio spoke up, scanning the room as the sirens outside grew louder and closer. “Where is Cesar?”
At that, I stilled as my gaze darted frantically around the devastated club, searching for any sign of him. Panic clawed at my chest as each second passed with no answer, the dread of what I might find threatening to choke me. Every shadow seemed to pulse with menace, and the anticipation in the room was almost unbearable as we waited for Cesar to emerge from wherever he had been swept by the violence.
Police rushed into the club, guns drawn, quickly taking control of the scene. Then, through the shattered remnants of tables and the haze of spilled champagne, I saw movement—a hunched figure making its way slowly toward the exit. It was Cesar, clutching his side, his face pale but determined, as if the violence of the night had aged him a decade in a single hour, and that was when I saw his blood dripping onto the floor.
I rushed to Cesar’s side, just as his strength failed him and he collapsed into my arms. Lowering him gently to the floor, I sawthe pain twisting his features. He met my gaze, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was a plant.”
“What?” I asked, confusion and dread mingling in my chest.
Cesar coughed, his grip tightening on my shirt as blood stained his hand. He forced out the words, “The bitch. Find her and kill her.”
“Consider it done, brother,” I replied with clarity and resolve, my voice cutting through the chaos. As Guilio and Miranda hurried over, Guilio swiftly moved me aside to reach Cesar. I rose to my feet and turned toward Luca, who gave me a silent nod, already pulling out his phone. Without hesitation, Luca stepped outside through the emergency exit, making a call as he went.
Focusing on Aurelio and Emanuelle, I issued firm instructions. “Stay with Cesar and my wife. They don’t leave your side. Call when there is news.” The urgency in my voice made it clear that their safety was paramount.
Emanuelle looked at me, concern flickering in his eyes as he glanced between Cesar and myself. “You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice uncertain.
I met his gaze, my tone unwavering. “Do as you’re told, Emanuelle. I want hourly updates.”
Without another word, I strode from the club, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders. Outside, Luca was already waiting, the car engine running, ready for what came next.
Rain pounded relentlessly against the car’s windshield, each drop echoing the turmoil roiling inside me. The city outside,usually a network of neon flickers and brooding shadows, had transformed into a bleak, waterlogged landscape. Beside me, Luca was silent, his tense silhouette outlined by the smear of blurred streetlights—jaw clenched, eyes unwavering as we navigated the drenched streets, determined to leave no avenue unexplored. We’d reached out to every contact, desperate for any scrap of information about Barbari or his reasons for orchestrating the attack on the club.
I could understand Barbari’s anger—after all, the underworld thrived on vendettas. But what gnawed at me was the willingness to use his own daughter as a pawn, sending her into danger with full knowledge of the risks. In our world, a daughter wasn’t sacred; she was currency, traded and sacrificed as the circumstances demanded. Barbari knew those rules as well as anyone, yet he’d sent her into our stronghold. He had to realize he stood no chance against my family’s power. There had to be something deeper at play—an ulterior motive that remained just out of reach, a game we hadn’t yet deciphered.
“Anything?” I asked, my voice rough, unused to the quiet hum of the car.
Luca shook his head and kept his eyes glued to his phone, waiting for any news to break through the silence. “Just the usual whispers,” he muttered, frustration evident in his tone. “I don’t like this, Massimo. He’s cunning, slippery, like trying to catch smoke. He knows he just marked himself tonight.” Luca let out a slow, rumbling exhale, the tension in the car palpable. “Why?”
“I don’t know, brother.” My response was quiet, uncertainty lingering between us as the rain continued to drum against the car.
“The boys are working their usual channels,” Luca continued, trying to reassure me. “Benny’s got his ear to the ground inPilsen; Frankie’s squeezing a few rats in the North Side. Shit, Giovanni texted Guilio. He knows about the attack. He’s pissed.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles straining with the pressure of my grip. Club Valentine was more than just a business; it was considered a sanctuary by those who knew its reputation. Inside those walls, the usual codes and brutal rules that dictated our lives were suspended—Club Valentine was a rare haven, a place untouched by the constant power struggles of the city.
The club carried even more weight because it was owned and operated by Giovanni Valentinetti, the former head Don of Chicago. His decision to effectively hand control of the city over to our brother Cesar had unsettled the established order. Tensions simmered among the Italian families, many of whom resented Giovanni’s choice and saw Cesar’s rise as a challenge to their own ambitions. Since then, we had endured a series of attacks, each one orchestrated by those determined to seize what Giovanni had entrusted to Cesar. Every move we made was shadowed by the threat of betrayal or violence, a constant reminder that our hold on the city was still contested territory.
No one challenged us more persistently than Barbari. He was convinced that ruling Chicago was his birthright, and he refused to accept the new order. Barbari’s relentless ambition and sense of entitlement made him the most formidable threat to our family’s control, fueling much of the unrest that now plagued the city.
The drive west felt endless, rain still pelting the windshield as the city’s unfamiliar corners blurred past in streaks of gray. Eventually, we rolled to a stop outside a bar that looked like it had seen better days—a place where secrets were traded for the price of a drink and no one asked questions. The fading neon above the door sputtered, spelling out “Al’s” in uneven letters,its glow barely piercing the gloom. The sign’s flicker was a silent invitation to anyone seeking to disappear for a while.
Inside, the air was thick with a haze of stale smoke, and the lingering scent of spilled whiskey permeated every surface. Shadows clung to the corners, and the low murmur of conversation merged with the faint clink of glass behind the bar. This was the kind of place where desperation felt at home, and anonymity was the only currency that mattered.
We moved through the gloom, eyes adjusting as we searched for our contact. At the far end of the bar, hunched over his glass, sat Silas. He barely looked up as we approached, his gaze sharp and assessing, narrowing ever so slightly as we slid onto the stools beside him. Silas was a man who thrived on the city’s undercurrents; he was always listening, always watching, and he knew all the players—sometimes before they even knew themselves. His reputation as a source of information was unmatched, but getting him to part with what he knew was never easy.
