Chapter 3 - The Blood Pattern
The command room in the basement of the Rossi estate didn’t look like a basement. It looked like a military war room.
Monitors covered the main wall, displaying live feeds from forty different cameras across the property, thermal scans, traffic cameras from downtown Chicago, and encrypted communication channels.
Victor sat at the head of a stainless-steel table, a map of Cook County spread out before him. Beside him, three of his high-ranking lieutenants stood in silence, their expressions grim.
I sat in a chair to his left. Nobody questioned why a caregiver was in the syndicate’s war room. After what happened upstairs, nobody dared.
“The window security code was updated forty-eight hours ago,” Marco reported, sliding a tablet across the table to Victor. “Only six people had access to the new encryption key. Three of them were on duty last night.”
Victor looked at the three names on the screen.
“Where is Leo?” he asked calmly.
Too calmly.
“He didn't report for his 7:00 a.m. shift,” Marco replied. “His phone is off. His apartment in West Loop is empty.”
Victor’s fingers closed into a fist over the map. Leo had been on his personal security detail for four years. Leo had stood at Elena’s funeral. Leo had held the umbrella over Finn’s head when we buried his mother.
“Find his family,” Victor whispered.
“Victor,” I warned softly, laying a hand near his on the metal table.
His lieutenants stiffened, expecting him to snap my arm. Instead, Victor’s eyes flicked to mine.
“He took a five-year-old child, Harper,” Victor said, his tone dripping with venom. “He delivered my son to people who want me dead. Do not ask me to be merciful.”
“I’m not asking for mercy for Leo,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m asking you to keep your head. If Leo took him, he didn't do it for fun. He was paid, or he was threatened. If you slaughter his family before we find out who hired him, we lose our only lead.”
The room was dead silent. The lieutenants looked at the ceiling, pretending they weren't listening to the boss being corrected by a woman in sweatpants.
Victor stared at me for five agonizing seconds. Then he took a slow, deep breath, forcing the fury back beneath his skin.
“Marco,” Victor said. “Bring Leo’s sister here. Do not harm her. But make sure she understands that her brother’s survival depends on her cooperation.”
“Yes, Boss.” Marco hurried out of the room.
Victor stood up and walked toward the far side of the room, where a pot of black coffee was brewing. His hands were shaking slightly as he poured a cup.
I stood up and followed him.
“You haven't slept,” I said softly, leaning against the counter beside him.
“I won't sleep until he’s back.” He didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the dark liquid in his mug. “You were right, you know.”
I blinked. “About what?”
“Last night,” Victor murmured, his voice dropping so low the men at the table couldn't hear. “When I said you were nothing but hired help. When I asked who was waiting for you outside.”
He turned his head to look at me. The shadows under his eyes were dark, but his gaze was terrifyingly intense.
“It was cruel. I said it because...” He hesitated, his jaw flexing.
“Because why, Victor?”
“Because every time I look at you with him, it terrifies me,” he confessed, his voice rough. “He loves you. And God help me, Harper... I was beginning to rely on you too. In this life, anything you rely on becomes a target. I tried to push you away before someone used you against me.”
My heart did a strange, painful flip in my chest.
“You didn't push me away, Victor,” I whispered. “You just hurt me.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “And if we get Finn back... if I get my son home safe... I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”
Before I could process the weight of his words, a loud chime echoed through the war room.
One of the tech operatives at the monitors stood up abruptly. “Boss! We’ve got an incoming encrypted transmission on the private line. It’s routed through a proxy in Toronto.”
Victor swept across the room in three long strides, his coffee mug forgotten on the counter. “Put it on the main speakers.”
The screen flickered. The video feed was dark, showing only the silhouette of a man sitting in a leather chair. But the voice that came through the speakers was instantly recognizable—deep, raspy, and mocking.
“Hello, Victor,” the voice said.
Victor’s hands gripped the edge of the steel table until his knuckles turned white. “Luciano.”
Luciano Vane. Head of the Vane Crime Syndicate—the family that had fought the Rossis for control of the Chicago waterways for three generations. The man who had been suspected of ordering the hit that killed Victor’s wife two years ago.
“You look tired, my friend,” Luciano purred. “Have you lost something?”
“If you lay one finger on my son, Luciano, I will rip your throat out with my bare hands,” Victor snarled.
Luciano chuckled—a dry, horrible sound. “The boy is fine, Victor. For now. He’s a little noisy, though. Keeps asking for some woman named Harper.”
My chest seized. I took a step toward the screen, but Victor put an arm out, holding me back.
“What do you want?” Victor demanded.
“I want what your father stole from mine forty years ago,” Luciano said, his tone suddenly turning cold as ice. “The port terminal contracts. All of them. Transferred to my name by 3:00 p.m. today.”
“Done,” Victor said without a second of hesitation. “Take them. All of them.”
“Ah, but there’s a catch,” Luciano continued smoothly. “I don't trust your lawyers, Victor. I want the original physical deeds brought to the old grain silo at Pier 42. And you will bring them alone.”
“No!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
May you like
Luciano paused on the line. A dark smirk appeared in the silhouette on the screen. “Ah. Is that the lovely caregiver I hear? Perfect. Bring her too, Victor. The boy won't stop crying, and frankly, she can keep him quiet while we sign the papers.”
The feed went black.
