My husband had just snapped my arm inside our apartment, and while I hid in the bathroom bleeding, I made one desperate phone call to the most feared mob boss in Chicago

The Chicago night was freezing as our black armored SUV rolled through the abandoned shipping yards of the South Side. Towering cranes loomed like skeletal giants against the cloudy night sky, and the dark, icy waters of the Chicago River lapped quietly against the concrete docks.

Inside the SUV, Victor sat beside me, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit jacket. He carried no visible weapon, but the two men in the front seat—Marcus and another enforcer named Nikolai—wore tactical vests beneath their coats and carried submachine guns ready for deployment.

The SUV ground to a halt inside a cavernous, dimly lit warehouse.

Waiting for us in the center of the concrete floor was Dante Rossi and six of his heavily armed thugs. Rossi was a tall, scarred man with slicked-back dark hair and a permanent sneer carved into his face.

Victor pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold air, his movements smooth and utterly fearless. I followed closely behind him, clutching his coat tighter around my shoulders.

“Well, well, well,” Rossi laughed, spreading his arms wide as he stepped forward. “The great Victor Romano, showing up to a meeting with a stray waitress trailing behind him. Have you gone soft in your old age, Victor?”

Victor didn't smile. He stopped ten feet away from Rossi, his hands resting casually in his coat pockets.

“Dante,” Victor greeted coldly. “You requested a meeting. Make it quick. I have better things to do than listen to your barking.”

Rossi's smile vanished, replaced by a dark, venomous scowl. “You broke our neutrality protocol by raiding an apartment on the South Side without my permission! That woman belongs to our territory, and you stole her.”

“She belongs to no one except herself,” Victor replied, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. “And she asked for my protection. Under our code, that overrides your territory bullshit.”

“Code?” Rossi spat on the concrete floor. “Codes are dead, Victor! And so are you!”

With a snap of Rossi's fingers, his six thugs raised their assault rifles, locking their sights directly onto Victor and me.

My breath caught in my throat. I braced myself for the deafening roar of gunfire.

But Victor didn't even flinch.

In fact, a cold, knowing smirk appeared on his face.

“You really think I came here alone, Dante?” Victor asked softly.

Before Rossi could process the warning, a series of bright, blinding spotlights suddenly flooded the warehouse rafters from above.

Clack-clack-clack.

Red laser sights flickered across the chests of every single one of Rossi's thugs. From the catwalks overhead, a dozen of Victor's elite snipers had locked their targets, their weapons trained on Rossi's men with absolute precision.