Chapter 3 - THE ARCHITECT OF THE LIES
The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the opulent private parlor for three long seconds.
Nico’s dark gaze moved from Evelyn’s weathered face to the crisp, cream-colored legal document clutched in my trembling fingers. The title deed transfer bearing Sloane Mercer’s private shell corporation name stared back at him like a confession written in ink.
"Where did you get that?" Nico asked. His voice wasn't loud, but the sheer weight behind it made the heavy crystal decanter on the sideboard rattle against the glass tray.
Evelyn didn't flinch. She adjusted her pale green cardigan and looked up at the man she used to pay with turkey sandwiches and cafeteria milk crates.
"I got it from the county recorder's office yesterday morning, Nico," Evelyn said steadily. "While you were busy finalizing guest lists for a woman who wouldn't spend a dime on a soup kitchen, she was busy buying up the mortgage debt of every working-class neighborhood on the South Side—starting with Rachel’s mother's building."
Nico turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto mine.
"Your mother's building?" he asked, taking a half-step forward.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, stepping out from the shadow of the velvet armchair. "Yes, Mr. De Luca. My mother has lived in the Oak Street apartments for forty years. Three days ago, every tenant received an emergency eviction notice. The building was sold to an anonymous buyer. That document... that’s the buyer."
Nico walked over, his tall frame towering over me. He gently reached out and took the paper from my fingers. His calloused fingertips brushed against mine, sending a sudden, electric jolt up my arm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the raw, suppressed fury radiating off him.
He scanned the legal description, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
"Sloane," Nico whispered, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
"She told the board she was investing in community renewal," Evelyn added softly, leaning back against the cushions. "In reality, she’s liquidating the syndicate’s reserve funds to build a private offshore gambling resort in the Bahamas under her uncle's name. She needed the land cleared, and she needed the local tenants removed before the federal auditors arrive next month."
Nico lowered the paper, folding it deliberately in half.
"She told me her family's banking empire was backing our expansion," Nico said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, chilling register. "She told me she loved the foundation's charity work."
"She loves the power, Nico," Evelyn corrected gently. "Just like her father before her. Some people are born with a silver spoon, and some people spend their whole lives trying to steal everyone else's silverware."
Nico turned around, pacing toward the tall French doors that looked out over the Chicago skyline. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a sprawling empire built on blood, loyalty, and iron rules. Rules that Sloane Mercer had just broken under his very roof.
"Sir," I said quietly, breaking the silence. "What should I do? My mother... her rent was already overdue. If she has to move out in thirty days—"
Nico stopped pacing. He turned back, his expression instantly softening as he looked at me.
"Your mother isn't moving anywhere, Rachel," he said with absolute, unshakable finality. "The Oak Street building is now under the De Luca Foundation's direct protection. I'll have my legal team void Sloane’s fraudulent purchase before the hour is up."
"Thank you," I breathed, tears of sheer relief prickling the corners of my eyes. "Thank you, Mr. De Luca."
"Call me Nico," he said quietly. Then a faint, grim smile touched his lips. "And don't thank me yet. We still have thirty-six very expensive guests eating filet mignon in my ballroom, and a fiancée who thinks she's already won."
He walked over to the mahogany desk in the corner of the parlor, picked house phone, and punched a two-digit extension.
"Marcus," Nico said into the receiver. The head of security answered instantly. "Secure the perimeter doors. Nobody leaves the ballroom. And bring Sloane Mercer to the private parlor. Immediately."
Before Marcus could even acknowledge the command, Nico hung up the phone.
May you like
He walked back over to Evelyn and me, his dark eyes burning with a cold, righteous fire.
"Auntie Ev," Nico said, extending his arm. "Let's go back into the dining room. It's time to show these politicians and captains what happens when someone tries to throw away a yellow star."
