BURNED BEYOND RECOGNITION

Chicago burned over the next forty-eight hours. From the safety of the penthouse, I watched the news reports of mysterious warehouse fires, exploded vehicles, and sudden "disappearances" of prominent foreign businessmen. Vincent was systematically dismantling the Russian syndicate, tearing their operations out by the roots.

He was ruthless. He was the monster the city feared. But every night, he came home to me, washing the blood from his hands before he touched me, holding me as if I were the only thing tethering him to his humanity.

Then, Trevor made the worst mistake of his life.

Desperate for money after being blacklisted from half the firms in the city (courtesy of Vincent’s quiet influence), Trevor had taken a loan from the remaining remnants of the Russian mob. When he couldn't pay, they offered him a deal: give them the security layout of Vincent’s estate, which Trevor had managed to glean by bribing a low-level contractor, and his debt would be forgiven.

The assault came during a torrential thunderstorm. I was in the medical bay when the estate’s alarms shrieked, instantly followed by the deafening crack of automatic weapons. The reinforced doors held, but the sheer volume of attackers was overwhelming Vincent’s depleted guard.

Marcus burst into the medical bay, covered in rain and soot. “We have to move you, Harper. They brought heavy explosives. The perimeter is breached.”

“Where is Vincent?” I demanded, grabbing a trauma kit and a sleek Glock from the emergency cache. I refused to be a victim again.

“Holding the main hall,” Marcus grunted. “We’re going to the underground tunnels.”

We didn't make it. As we crossed the west corridor, the wall blew inward in a shower of plaster and fire. The blast threw me backward, my head striking the marble floor. My vision blurred. Through the ringing in my ears, I saw Marcus engaged in brutal hand-to-hand combat with two masked men. A third man stepped through the smoke, pulling off his mask to wipe the rain from his face.