Chapter 7 - THE COMMISSION'S SHADOW
The sharp click of the phone line going dead echoed faintly in my ear before I could respond.
"Who was that?" Nico asked instantly, his relaxed demeanor vanishing in a fraction of a second. The sharp, predatory edge of a syndicate boss returned to his eyes.
"Sloane," I said, setting the phone down on the counter. "She said her uncle on the federal commission is drafting indictments for the foundation's audit. She claims that by Monday morning, you won't have an empire left."
My mother gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh, dear God... federal indictments? Can she do that?"
"Her uncle is Arthur Mercer, the head of the federal regulatory oversight committee," Nico said darkly, standing up from the kitchen table. His chair scraped sharply against the linoleum floor. "He's spent five years trying to find a legal loophole to seize the De Luca Foundation's assets. Sloane was his inside operative all along."
The puzzle pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
"She didn't just want to build a casino," I realized aloud, standing up to face him. "She was feeding confidential foundation documents to her uncle to build a federal RICO case against you."
"Precisely," Nico said, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out his encrypted satellite phone. He punched a speed-dial number. "Marcus? Get the legal team down to the headquarters immediately. We're locking down the digital archives. Arthur Mercer is making his move early."
He hung up without waiting for a reply, then looked down at me, his dark eyes filled with a sudden, agonizing conflict.
"Rachel," Nico said, his voice thick with emotion. "I need to go. If Arthur Mercer is moving his chess pieces, I have to dismantle his board before he reaches the foundation's downtown offices."
"I understand," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Nico stepped closer, reaching out to gently cup my cheek with his warm, calloused hand. His thumb brushed across my cheekbone.
"Stay here with your mother," he instructed softly. "My security detail will remain outside the building. Do not open the door for anyone except me or Marcus. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I nodded, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Be careful, Nico."
He pressed a quick, fierce kiss to my forehead, turned sharply on his heel, and walked out of the apartment, closing the door softly behind him.
For the next thirty-six hours, the world outside felt like it was holding its breath.
My mother and I watched local news reports on the small kitchen television. Throughout Saturday and Sunday, rumors swirled across Chicago media outlets about an impending federal sweep targeting major philanthropic foundations linked to organized crime. Financial pundits speculated wildly about the De Luca Foundation's solvency.
Yet, as Sunday evening rolled around, no federal agents arrived at our door. The two black SUVs belonging to Nico’s security detail remained parked quietly across the street, their tinted windows impenetrable against the gathering dusk.
By Sunday night at 8:00 PM, the tension in the apartment had reached a breaking point.
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Then, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
It was a text message from an unknown number: Oak Street roof access. Ten minutes. Come alone.
