Chapter 3 - SECRETS BURIED IN ICE
Hannah didn’t speak for a long time. She just stared at the photograph, tears silently spilling over her cheeks and soaking into the collar of her hospital gown. I didn't push. In my line of work, silence was often more revealing than words. I watched the frantic pulse at her throat, the way her eyes darted to the door as if calculating an escape route that didn't exist.
"I didn't know who he was," she finally choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "Not at first. I met him five years ago in Chicago. He called himself Mark. He was charming, wealthy, and I was... I was young and stupid."
"You had his children," I stated flatly, thinking of the twins.
She shook her head vigorously. "No. Mason and Noah aren't his. They're my late husband's. Sophie is my daughter from my first marriage. Marcus—Mark—was just a man I dated. But then... things changed. He became controlling. Violent. He kept a locked room in his house, and one day, I found the key."
I leaned forward, my interest piquing. "What was inside?"
"Ledgers," she breathed, her eyes widening at the memory. "Blueprints of this exact estate. And a list of names. Your name was at the very top, circled in red ink. The next day, I found him beating a man to a pulp in our garage. That was when I realized he wasn't just a businessman. I packed a bag, took Sophie, and ran."
"You ran from a dead mafia underboss," I said, the bitter irony not lost on me. "And you ended up in Milwaukee. My territory."
"I didn't know it was your territory!" she cried, her voice cracking. "I just ran as far and as fast as I could. I met my husband here. We had the twins. We were happy for a brief moment. But then my husband died in a hit-and-run six months ago. The police said it was an accident. But then the money disappeared from our accounts. We were evicted. I got sick. It was a systematic destruction of my life."
It clicked. The puzzle pieces violently snapped together in my mind. The hit-and-run wasn't an accident. The frozen bank accounts weren't a bureaucratic error. Marcus had found her. He had systematically destroyed her new life, driving her into poverty, sickness, and desperation, leaving her no choice but to send her daughter out into the freezing streets.
"He maneuvered you," I said softly, the sheer brilliance of the sociopathic plan sending a chill down my spine. "He cornered you in my city, knowing my routine, knowing I frequent that specific grocery store on Tuesday mornings to collect from the owner. He knew I'd see a starving child. He knew my one weakness was kids."
Hannah looked at me, a desperate plea in her eyes. "He sent that picture to child services to force your hand. He wants you to keep us here. But why? What does he gain by putting me inside your house?"
Before I could answer, the heavy oak door of the medical wing burst open. Silas stood there, his gun drawn, a smear of fresh blood on his cheek.
"Boss," Silas barked, his eyes scanning the room. "We have a breach. South wall. Six armed men just bypassed the outer security grid. They aren't here to spy, Andrew. They're heavily armed, and they're moving straight toward the safe room."
The safe room. Where Sophie and the twins were hiding.
I drew my customized Glock from my shoulder holster, racking the slide with a deafening clack. Marcus didn't want to plant Hannah in my house to spy on me. He wanted to use her as bait to get me to bring all his targets into one confined space.
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"Stay here," I commanded Hannah, my voice devoid of any warmth. "Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me."
I stepped out into the hallway, the familiar rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. Milwaukee's most feared mafia boss had just been awakened, and God help the men who were about to cross my path.
