THE WAITRESS, THE WIFE, AND THE EMPIRE IN ASHES

The Stout Brewery loomed like a rotting iron giant against the Chicago skyline.

It was a labyrinth of rusted vats, broken catwalks, and shattered glass. Vincent and Leo approached from the alley, moving silently through the morning shadows. The air smelled of stale hops, damp brick, and gasoline.

“Two vehicles by the loading dock,” Leo whispered, crouching behind a rusted dumpster. “Black SUVs. Private security plates.”

Sterling’s men. Mercenaries, not mobsters.

Vincent didn’t blink. “Take the driver in the first car. I’ll take the door.”

They moved in perfect sync. Men like Arthur Sterling hired muscle because they wanted to look powerful. Men like Vincent Romano grew up fighting in the streets because they had to survive. There was a difference.

Leo slipped behind the first SUV, wrapping his arm around the guard’s throat. A five-second struggle, and the man went limp.

Vincent walked straight to the steel side door. A guard stepped out, lighting a cigarette. Before the man could exhale, Vincent drove the butt of his gun into the man’s solar plexus, catching him as he folded, and dragged him into the shadows.

They slipped inside.

The interior of the brewery was cavernous. Sunlight bled through the bullet holes in the skylights, illuminating dust motes dancing in the cold air.

Vincent heard a voice echoing from the upper catwalk.

“I don’t care if she hasn’t talked. Break her fingers.”

It wasn’t Evelyn. It was a man’s voice. Cold. Corporate.

Vincent gestured for Leo to take the stairs on the left. Vincent took the right.

He moved silently up the grated metal steps, his leather shoes making zero sound. As he crested the second floor, he saw them.

Harper was tied to a steel chair in the center of an old manager’s office. Her face was pale, her lip bleeding. Two men in tactical gear stood over her.

And sitting on the edge of a desk, wiping blood off his knuckles with a silk handkerchief, was Marcus. Evelyn’s personal bodyguard.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” Marcus said, leaning down until he was inches from Harper’s face. “Where is the ledger? What did you give Romano?”

Harper looked up. Her voice was weak, but it didn’t shake.

“Go to hell.”

Marcus sighed. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of heavy steel pliers. “Evelyn told me you were stubborn. She didn’t tell me you were stupid.”

He reached for her hand.

Vincent stepped out of the shadows.

“She’s not the stupid one.”

Marcus spun around, dropping the pliers and reaching for his weapon.

Vincent fired twice.

The two tactical guards dropped before they could even unholster their guns.

Marcus froze. Vincent’s gun was leveled directly between the bodyguard's eyes.

“Hands away from the jacket, Marcus,” Vincent said, stepping into the room.

Marcus slowly raised his hands. A slick sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. “You shouldn’t be here, Romano. You’re making a mistake.”

“I made a mistake when I bought a ring for a viper,” Vincent said. He didn’t look away from Marcus as he spoke to Harper. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Harper rasped.

Leo burst into the room from the opposite door, his weapon drawn. He quickly moved to Harper, cutting the heavy zip-ties around her wrists and ankles.

“You’re dead, Vincent,” Marcus sneered. “Arthur Sterling owns the Mayor. He owns the task force. You think you can walk out of here with her? The Feds are already raiding your shipping yards. Right now.”

Vincent’s heart hammered, but his face remained a mask of stone. If the Feds were at the yards, his legitimate businesses were about to be frozen.

“Let them raid it,” Vincent said. “They won’t find anything. I cleared the yards at midnight.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “You’re lying.”

“I never lie to dead men,” Vincent said. He took a step closer. “Where is Evelyn?”

“She’s not coming here. She’s at the Sterling estate, preparing for the press conference.” Marcus let out a harsh laugh. “She’s going to announce your tragic death in a shootout with the cartel. A beautiful, grieving widow.”

Vincent lowered his gun slightly.

Marcus saw the opening. He lunged, drawing a hidden blade from his sleeve.

Vincent didn’t even flinch. He fired once.

Marcus crumpled to the floor.

Silence fell over the office, broken only by Harper’s ragged breathing.

Vincent walked over to her. She was rubbing her bruised wrists, her eyes wide as she looked at the bodies.

“Can you walk?” Vincent asked gently, offering his hand.

Harper looked at his hand, then up at his face. She didn’t take it. Instead, she reached into her torn pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper.

“You didn’t clear the shipping yards, did you?” she asked quietly.

Vincent swallowed hard. “No.”

“So you’ve lost everything. Because you came for me.”

“I’ll get it back.” Vincent crouched down to her eye level. He pulled the tarnished silver pocket watch from his coat. “Why do you have Arthur Sterling’s watch, Harper?”