THE OBSIDIAN GAMBIT

The tires shrieked against the concrete, the heavy engine roaring as the two-ton battering ram hurtled toward them.

Lorenzo didn’t shoot. Instead, he shoved Evelyn hard behind a reinforced concrete pillar just as the SUV clipped the edge, sending a shower of gray dust and sparks into the freezing air. The vehicle slammed the brakes, skidding to a violent halt inches from a cinderblock wall.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the doors to open and the firing squad to step out.

"Boss! Get in!"

Evelyn peeked around the pillar. The driver’s side window was rolled down. Behind the wheel was a massive, square-jawed man with blood streaming down the side of his face. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, his right gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were bone-white.

Lorenzo lowered his weapon, exhaling a sharp breath. "Dante."

He grabbed Evelyn’s arm and rushed her to the rear door, shoving her inside before climbing in after her. Before Lorenzo even closed the door, Dante floored the accelerator. The SUV tore out of the loading dock, crashing through the security barrier and bursting into the freezing, rain-slicked streets of Chicago.

"They hit the safehouses, Lorenzo," Dante gasped, swerving violently to avoid a city bus. "All of them. Capos, lieutenants. It’s a massacre. Half the family turned on us tonight."

"Celeste," Lorenzo said, his voice cold, stripping off his ruined jacket. He pulled out his phone, typing furiously. "She bought my security. She bought my men."

"Not just bought," Dante coughed, wincing in agony. He reached into his coat with his good hand and tossed a heavy, blood-smeared object over his shoulder. It landed on the leather seat next to Evelyn.

She stared at it. It was a heavy, antique gold coin. A Roman denarius.

Lorenzo stared at the coin, his jaw tightening so hard she thought his teeth would shatter. The predatory calm was back, but now it was laced with absolute absolute venom.

"What is that?" Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling.

"Thirty pieces of silver," Lorenzo muttered. "It’s the Vane family crest stamped on the back. Celeste isn't just taking over my territory. She’s making a statement. This is a vendetta."

"Where to, Boss?" Dante asked, his eyes flickering in the rearview mirror.

"We need to disappear. The South Side. The old rail yards," Lorenzo ordered. "We go to Marcus."

Dante cursed. "Marcus? You haven't spoken to your uncle in five years. He hates you."

"He hates my father," Lorenzo corrected, his eyes locking onto the dark city rushing by. "He tolerates me. And he’s the only one who doesn't answer to Celeste."

The ride was a blur of neon lights and freezing rain. Evelyn huddled in the corner, staring at the gold coin. Nine months of pouring wine and disappearing into the wallpaper, and now she was trapped in a bulletproof SUV with Chicago's most hunted man.

Dante finally pulled the SUV into a derelict, rusting train yard. He killed the headlights, navigating by memory through a maze of abandoned boxcars. He parked the car inside a massive, rusted shipping container, cutting the engine.

"We walk from here," Lorenzo said.

They moved through the freezing rain. Evelyn shivered violently, her thin uniform offering no protection against the Chicago wind. Lorenzo stopped, unbuttoning his blood-stained dress shirt and tossing it over her shoulders. The residual heat from his body was the only thing keeping her teeth from chattering.

They approached a rusted metal door at the back of a dilapidated brick warehouse. Lorenzo knocked a rhythmic, syncopated beat.

A heavy deadbolt clacked. The door creaked open, revealing pitch darkness. Lorenzo pushed Evelyn inside, Dante following closely.

The lights snapped on, blinding them.

Evelyn blinked through the harsh fluorescent glare. They were standing in a massive, converted loft filled with stolen art, crates of weapons, and leather couches. But that wasn't what made Evelyn freeze.

Standing in the center of the room, aiming a pump-action shotgun directly at Lorenzo's chest, was an old man with scars crisscrossing his face.

But hiding behind his legs, clutching a torn teddy bear, was a little girl no older than six.

"You bring trouble to my door, Lorenzo," the old man growled, his finger tight on the trigger.