MAFIA BOSS NOTICES HIS TERRIFIED MAID SECRETLY HIDING BRUISES, WHAT HE DID NEXT SHOCKED THE ENTIRE CITY

Ten miles away, in a secure conference room beneath a hotel downtown, Damian’s phone vibrated violently against the mahogany table.

He picked it up on the first ring. "Speak."

"Boss!" Marcus's voice came through the speaker, breathless and punctuated by the sharp crack of distant gunshots. "The estate is under attack! It's Marco Moretti—he brought ten men. They breached the front courtyard!"

Damian stood up so fast his heavy leather chair crashed to the floor. The four lieutenants sitting around the table immediately went silent, their hands reaching instinctively for their sidearms.

"Is Elena safe?" Damian demanded, his voice dropping into a register that terrified every man in the room.

"She’s in the panic room with Rosalind," Marcus reported, the sound of glass shattering in the background. "We’ve pinned down four of them in the foyer, but Marco is trying to blow the lock on the security wing!"

Damian didn't ask another question. He turned to his men. "Get the cars. We are wiping the Morettis off the map tonight."

Within three minutes, a convoy of four armored SUVs tore through the rain-soaked streets of Chicago, blowing through red lights and pushing eighty miles per hour down the avenue toward the Reyes estate.

Damian sat in the back seat of the lead vehicle, holding a heavy black semi-automatic pistol in his lap. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying fury. For years, he had maintained a fragile peace with the rival syndicates, tolerating their existence as long as they respected the boundaries of his territory.

But Marco Moretti had made a fatal mistake. He had brought violence to Damian’s home. He had targeted the woman Damian had sworn to protect.

By the time the convoy screeched to a halt outside the estate gates, the gun battle in the courtyard had died down. Marcus and the estate guards had successfully eliminated six of the intruders, but the main house was still compromised.

Damian stepped out of the vehicle into the pouring rain, ignoring the umbrella his lieutenant offered. He racked the slide of his handgun with a cold, metallic click and strode up the front marble steps of his home.

The grand foyer was wrecked. Antiques were shattered, bullet holes peppered the plaster walls, and smoke hung heavy in the air.

Near the central staircase, two surviving Moretti gunmen were trying to plant a breacher charge on the reinforced steel door of the panic room. Marco Moretti stood behind them, shouting insults at the camera mounted above the door.

"Reyes!" Marco screamed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "You think you're untouchable? You think you can take what belongs to my debtors?"

Damian stepped out of the shadow of the entryway.