Chapter 7 - THE DEVIL'S BARGAIN
The rusted brass key in Lily’s small hand gleamed dully under the fluorescent lights of the veterinary clinic waiting room.
Harper stared at it, the pieces of Camilla’s master plan finally snapping into terrifying focus. Camilla had never intended for Harper to die at the Vanguard Estate. She needed Harper alive to translate the recipe cypher. The henchman with the poison had been a rogue actor—likely paid off by a rival family to kill Julian before Camilla could secure the vault.
"I'll give you the recipe card," Harper said into the phone, her voice cold and steady. "But Julian is dying. The police can have him for all I care."
"Oh, Harper, don't play games with me," Camilla purred, the sound like silk dragging over shattered glass. "Julian Rossi is a cockroach. He won't die that easily. Bring the key, the card, and Julian to the abandoned Navy Pier warehouse in one hour. If you don't, I will place a bounty on your little sister's head so high that every low-level thug in Chicago will be hunting her by sunrise."
Click. The line went dead.
Harper lowered the phone. Her hands were shaking, but her mind was terrifyingly clear.
She walked back into the surgical room. The mob doctor was frantically tying off a severed artery in Julian’s side. The heart monitor beeped erratically, a fragile testament to the mafia king's clinging life.
"Is he going to make it?" Harper demanded.
The doctor didn't look up. "I stopped the bleeding. I'm pumping him full of O-negative and adrenaline. He’ll live, but he won't be walking for a week. He needs a real hospital."
"Wake him up," Harper ordered.
The doctor stopped, staring at her in horror. "Are you insane? His body is in shock. Waking him now could trigger cardiac arrest!"
"I don't care," Harper said, stepping forward, the absolute authority of an executive chef barking orders in a chaotic kitchen taking over. "Hit him with epinephrine. Now."
The doctor hesitated, then grabbed a syringe of pure adrenaline, plunging it into Julian’s IV line.
Ten seconds later, Julian Rossi took a violent, gasping breath. His dark eyes flew open, wide and panicked, before locking onto the ceiling tiles. He groaned, a sound of profound agony, his hands gripping the metal rails of the gurney.
"Harper," Julian rasped, his eyes finding her face.
"Camilla called," Harper said bluntly, not giving him time to process the pain. "She wants the recipe card, the vault key, and you. In exchange, she leaves Lily and me alone."
Julian gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his pale face. He looked at the brass key Harper had taken from Lily.
"Don't give her the key," Julian wheezed. "It doesn't just open the vault. It opens a specific lockbox inside... containing the deeds to all five syndicate territories. If Camilla gets it, she controls Chicago."
"She threatened Lily," Harper said, her voice cracking for the first time. "I don't care about your territories, Julian. I care about my sister."
Julian stared at her, his expression softening despite the agonizing pain. "I know. Which is why you're going to give her exactly what she wants. But you're going to serve it on my terms."
Julian forced himself to sit up, ignoring the doctor’s frantic protests. He looked at Harper, his eyes burning with dark, calculated vengeance.
"You still have the vial of cyanide the henchman gave you, don't you?" Julian asked.
Harper reached into her stained apron pocket, her fingers brushing the cold glass of the poison. She nodded.
"Good," Julian whispered, a predatory smile pulling at his pale lips. "Because my wife has a severe allergy to losing. And you, Harper, are going to cook her last meal."
Julian turned to the terrified doctor. "Give me a loaded gun and all the painkillers you have in this clinic. We have a meeting to attend."
Forty-five minutes later, the rusted sedan pulled into the cavernous, shadowy expanse of the abandoned Navy Pier warehouse.
Harper stepped out of the driver's side. The rain had stopped, leaving the air thick and humid. She walked to the back door, helping Julian out. He was pale, moving stiffly, a heavy trench coat thrown over his bloody bandages to conceal the extent of his injuries. He leaned heavily on Harper’s shoulder.
Standing in the center of the warehouse, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries, was Camilla Rossi. She wore a pristine white trench coat, looking like an angel of death.
"Right on time," Camilla smiled, stepping forward.
Harper held up the laminated recipe card in one hand, and the heavy brass key in the other.
"Let us go, Camilla," Harper said, her voice echoing in the massive space. "Take the empire. Just let me and my sister walk away."
Camilla laughed, a cruel, ringing sound. She gestured to her men. They raised their rifles, aiming directly at Harper and Julian.
"Oh, sweetheart," Camilla mocked. "I am a businesswoman. And leaving the only person alive who can translate the cypher is bad business. Kill them both."
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But before the mercenaries could pull their triggers, the massive steel doors of the warehouse slammed shut with a deafening boom, plunging the room into near darkness.
And from the shadows above the catwalks, red laser sights pierced the gloom, painting the chests of Camilla’s men.
