Chapter 3 - THE LION'S DEN
The words hit Evelyn like a physical blow. A son. The tabloids had never mentioned Lorenzo Moretti having a child.
"Move," Lorenzo ordered, grabbing the dead gunman's rifle. He shoved Evelyn toward the alley door. "You’re coming with me."
"What? No!" Evelyn planted her feet. "I saved your life, we're even! I have to go home!"
Lorenzo grabbed her upper arm, his grip like a steel vise. "My brother knows every man on my payroll. He knows every safe house. You are the only person in this city right now who isn't a suspect. You step out onto that street alone, Celeste's cleaners will put a bullet in your head just for being in the room."
Evelyn swallowed hard. She knew the rules of Chicago’s underworld better than she wanted to admit. Her father had died for breaking them.
Lorenzo kicked open the alley door. The freezing Chicago wind whipped her hair across her face. They sprinted down the fire escape, diving into the backseat of a black, armored SUV idling half a block away. The driver, an older man with a scarred neck, didn't ask questions. He just floored it.
"The estate, Dante," Lorenzo barked. "Now."
As they tore through the city streets, dodging police sirens heading toward the burning restaurant, Lorenzo systematically reloaded the rifle. He looked terrifyingly calm, but his hands were shaking.
"His name is Leo," Lorenzo said suddenly, not looking at her. "He's six. He’s the only good thing I’ve ever put into this world."
Evelyn hugged her knees, shivering in her thin waitress uniform. "Why would they target a little boy?"
"Because to take my throne, my brother has to end my bloodline," Lorenzo said coldly. "Celeste wants the power. My brother wants the crown. They used the engagement to lower my guard."
The SUV screeched to a halt outside a massive iron gate in the northern suburbs. The estate was completely dark. Too dark.
"The perimeter guards are gone," Dante said, pulling a pistol from his shoulder holster.
Lorenzo threw open the door. Evelyn scrambled out behind him, terrified to be left alone. They moved through the manicured gardens in absolute silence. The front door of the mansion hung wide open, the lock blown out.
Lorenzo moved through the opulent foyer like a ghost, his weapon raised. Evelyn followed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The house was dead quiet. No bodies, no blood, just an eerie, suffocating emptiness.
They reached the second floor. Lorenzo kicked open a door painted with clouds and stars.
Leo's room.
It was empty. The bed was unmade.
Lorenzo dropped to his knees, a guttural, raw sound escaping his throat. Evelyn stepped into the room, her eyes scanning the chaos. Clothes were pulled from drawers. A chair was overturned.
But then, Evelyn saw it.
Pinned to the wooden headboard by a heavy, bloody combat knife was a piece of paper. It was a child’s drawing in crayon—a messy, beautiful lion with a golden mane. Leo.
Evelyn walked over, her hands trembling as she reached for the paper. But it wasn't the drawing that made her blood run cold. It was the knife.
The handle was wrapped in faded, braided leather, with a distinct, tarnished brass skull on the pommel.
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"Evelyn," Lorenzo growled, standing up, his eyes locked on the blade. "Don't touch it."
"I know this knife," Evelyn whispered, tears suddenly blurring her vision. She looked at the mafia boss, the walls of her own past crashing down around her. "This is the knife that my father’s killer carried the night he disappeared."
