THE MAFIA BOSS’S DAUGHTER

The towering glass facade of Moretti Tower pierced the gray Chicago morning sky like a monolithic obsidian blade. Mara stood at the grand revolving entrance, smoothing down the front of her new emerald-green blazer—a subtle nod to the color that had inadvertently saved Ava’s life. She no longer carried a silver tray or worried about clearing tables before grumpy diners snapped their fingers.

She walked up to the towering marble reception desk, where a security guard with an earpiece eyed her skeptically.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked flatly.

Mara pulled the heavy black business card from her pocket and laid it flat against the pristine marble surface.

“Mara Ellis,” she said, her voice carrying a calm, unshakeable confidence she hadn't possessed twenty-four hours ago. “I’m here to see Dante Moretti. Tell him his new director of intelligence has arrived.”

The guard’s eyes widened slightly as he recognized the embossed Moretti crest on the card. He tapped his earpiece twice, muttered a brief verification, and pressed a discreet button beneath the desk. The heavy security turnstile clicked open with a sharp, mechanical chime.

“Floor forty-two,” the guard said, his tone entirely changed, now laced with instant deference. “The private elevator is waiting for you.”

The ride up to the forty-second floor was smooth and agonizingly fast. When the brass doors slid open, Mara stepped out into a sprawling, ultra-modern penthouse office overlooking the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, while minimalist art pieces lined the dark oak walls.

Dante Moretti sat behind a massive glass desk, reviewing a series of encrypted financial ledgers. He looked up as Mara approached, his sharp gray eyes assessing her professional attire with a nod of approval.

“You’re punctual,” Dante noted, closing the ledger. “I like punctual.”

“Punctuation keeps jobs, Mr. Moretti,” Mara replied smoothly, taking a seat in the leather chair opposite him without waiting for an invitation. “Though I assume you didn't hire me to admire the lake view. What’s our first assignment?”

Dante leaned back, lacing his fingers together over his chest. “Julian Cross may have acted as the muscle for the Milwaukee syndicate yesterday, but he was just an accountant. He didn't have the stomach or the clearance to access the private Bellamy House blueprints on his own. Someone inside my inner circle gave him those security codes.”

Mara’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A mole.”

“Precisely,” Dante said, his voice dropping dangerously low. “And since you have a talent for spotting the details everyone else misses, I want you to find them. Every transaction, every phone call, every hidden loyalty in this building goes across your desk starting today.”