Chapter 3 - RIPPLES ON THE SOUTH SIDE
By sunrise, the blizzard had cleared, leaving Chicago blanketed in a pristine, blinding layer of white snow. But beneath the sparkling surface of the city, the underworld was beginning to stir with unease.
News travels through Chicago’s criminal pipelines faster than wind off the lake. When a fleet of three black Mercedes-Maybachs—escorted by private security and flying the discreet insignia of the Harbor Crown Corporation—pulled up to the emergency entrance of Northwestern Memorial Hospital at two in the morning, nurses and orderlies whispered in the corridors.
When those same guards secured the entire eighth-floor cardiac intensive care unit, displacing the hospital administrator with a single phone call from a federal judge on Daniel Choi’s payroll, the whispers turned into panic.
In a smoky, dimly lit poker den tucked behind a dry cleaner in Little Village, Dominic Moretti slammed his glass down onto the felt-lined table.
"What do you mean, Choi bought out the entire wing?" Dominic snarled, his face twisting with fury. He was a middle-aged capo for the old Chicago Outfit, a man who still believed the city belonged to Italian families rather than Korean syndicates. "Choi doesn't give a damn about charity. Everything he touches has a knife blade hidden inside it."
Across the table, a nervous informant named Frankie nervously adjusted his collar. "I’m telling you, Dom, it’s true. My cousin works security at Northwestern. A little girl walked out of Choi’s Thornwood estate escorted by his head of security, carrying a bag of leftovers, and ten minutes later, old Vera Castillo—some retired union activist who’s been fighting eviction for a decade—gets moved into the platinum suite with three cardiologists hovering over her bed like guardian angels."
Dominic narrowed his eyes, a dangerous calculation forming in his mind. For years, the Outfit had tried to find a weakness in Daniel Choi's armor. Choi was too smart, too wealthy, and too well-guarded. He didn't gamble, he didn't indulge in public vices, and he never left his sprawling estate unprotected.
A little girl. A dying grandmother.
"A weakness," Dominic muttered to himself, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. "The ice-cold ghost of the North Shore has finally found something to care about. Or at least, someone connected to him."
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"Dom, you're not thinking of touching the kid?" Frankie whispered, horror dawning in his eyes. "That's Choi. If you go near that child, there won't be enough left of us to bury in a matchbox."
"Who said anything about touching the kid?" Dominic laughed harshly, though his eyes remained cold and calculating. "We don't need to hurt her. We just need to find out why the invincible Daniel Choi is playing fairy godmother. If Vera Castillo holds a secret from Choi’s early days—something that built his empire or exposed his past—we find it first. And then we use it to break him."
