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And I'm about to betray both the Fioris and the father of my child in one spectacular move.
God help us all.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Stefano
The salt airburns my lungs as I walk the docks.
Even at this hour, my territory hums with activity—containers being loaded, workers moving with practiced efficiency, everyone careful to acknowledge my presence without making direct eye contact.
Fear is a currency I trade in well.
"Third suspicious incident this week," Tomasso reports, matching my stride. "Security caught movement on the cameras near B7, but whoever it was knew our blind spots."
I stop at the edge of the pier, studying the dark water. The investigation at the club has proven futile so far. Yet someone's getting bolder, pushing boundaries, testing defenses. The thought makes the monster in me stir restlessly.
"Show me," I command, following him to the security office. The cameras paint a fragmented story—shadows moving with purpose, clearly familiar with our routines. Professional. Strategic.
Not random thieves, then. Something worse.
"They're learning our patterns," I observe, watching the footage again. "The guard rotations, the camera sweeps." My fingers drum against the metal desk. "Which means we have a leak."
Tomasso shifts beside me, clearing his throat. "Boss, about that. The timing of these incidents?—"
"Not now." I silence him with a look. I know what he's thinking—how these problems started around the time Ava appeared. But he's wrong. He has to be wrong.
"The Russians have been quiet lately," he says instead, wisely changing topics. "Too quiet."
"The Russians are always quiet before they strike." I straighten, mind already calculating possibilities. "We need to move operations. Temporarily."
"The Moretti family has warehouse space in the south district," he offers. "They might be amenable to an arrangement."
I consider it, weighing risks against advantages. The Morettis are small compared to us, but they're reliable. Predictable. "Make contact. Discreetly. See what kind of fee they'd want for a month's usage."
"And our current shipments?"
"Reroute everything through legitimate channels for now." I move to the window, watching my empire operate below. "Let whoever's watching think they've spooked us into going clean."
Tomasso makes notes on his phone, efficient as always. "Should we increase security at other locations? The club?—"
"The club stays as is." My voice carries an edge that makes him step back slightly. "Nothing changes there."
Because that's where Ava is. Where I can watch her, protect her, keep her close while I figure out what's really happening in my city.
"Of course." Tomasso hesitates, then adds, "She seemed unwell yesterday morning."
My jaw tightens. She wasn’t much better today. I'd left her sleeping, pale and quiet in our bed.
"Handle the Morettis," I say instead of acknowledging his observation. "I want options by tomorrow night."
He nods, already moving to execute my orders. But I remain at the window, watching the water, my mind split between business and something far more dangerous.
Because someone's trying to destabilize my operation. Someone with inside knowledge and professional backing. Someone who?—
"Boss?" Tomasso calls from the doorway. "About those options..."
"Tomorrow," I cut him off. "Take me home," I tell Tomasso, watching Chicago's skyline blur past the window. The city never sleeps, much like the obligations that weigh on my shoulders.