Chapter 6 - Whispers of the Past
When I breached the estate gates, the lawn was a war zone. My men were holding the line, but the house had been breached. I fought my way through the burning corridors, gunning down Rossi soldiers in my own hallways.
I found them in the panic room. Emma was bleeding from a cut on her forehead, holding a heavy-caliber handgun I had left in the bedside table. Two dead Rossi hitmen lay on the floor outside the steel door.
She had shot them. The quiet maid who hummed lullabies had pulled the trigger without hesitation to protect my son.
I dropped my weapon and pulled her into my arms. “You’re safe,” I breathed into her hair. “I’ve got you.”
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Later that night, as the medics patched her up, she finally broke down. Not from fear of the gunfight, but from a memory. “I’ve run from men like that before,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “My father owed debts to the cartel in Texas. I spent my whole life hiding. I thought I was safe here, pretending to be nobody.”
I touched her cheek, wiping away a streak of ash. “You aren't nobody, Emma. You are the Queen of Chicago now. And the men who made you run are going to learn what it means to cross my family.”
