Chapter 10 - The Storm BreaksThe live video feed on Marcus’s phone showed the sterile, white-tiled hallway of Saint Agnes Care Center. Two Santoro security guards lay unconscious on the floor near the double doors of Room 214.
Standing over them, holding a crowbar, was a heavily built man wearing a ski mask.
Rafael’s grip on Marcus’s collar tightened so hard the fabric tore. “Who is that?”
“Not... not me!” Marcus gasped, genuine terror finally breaking through his arrogant facade. “I swear to God, Rafael, I only wanted to scare you! That’s not my man—that’s a professional! That’s a cleaner from the old syndicate families—they’re using this to start a war between us!”
Rafael threw Marcus aside like a piece of trash. He didn't waste another second. He tapped his comms piece as he sprinted toward his black sedan waiting at the edge of the pier.
“Abel! Secure the perimeter around Saint Agnes! Nobody enters or leaves!”
“I’m already on the highway, boss,” Abel’s voice crackled through the comms, punctuated by the roar of a V8 engine shifting gears. “Marin is with me. We’re twenty minutes out.”
“Get there in ten,” Rafael ordered, sliding into the driver’s seat of his sedan, tires screeching as he spun the wheel and tore away from the pier into the rainy Chicago night.
Inside Saint Agnes, the masked intruder forced open the door to Room 214.
Inside, lying peacefully in her hospital bed, was Marin’s mother, breathing softly with the aid of an oxygen machine.
The intruder stepped toward the bed, raising the heavy crowbar.
Suddenly, the door behind him was kicked open with explosive force.
“Step away from the bed,” a cold, steady voice echoed through the room.
The intruder whirled around, raising a silenced pistol. But before he could pull the trigger, a heavy metal object struck his wrist with bone-breaking precision, sending the gun clattering across the linoleum floor.
Marin rushed past the doorway, throwing herself between the intruder and her mother’s bed, her eyes blazing with fierce, protective fury. Behind her stood Rafael Santoro, his fists clenched, his face a mask of concentrated rage.
The intruder lunged forward, but Rafael closed the gap instantly. It was a brutal, swift exchange of blows—a clash of raw survival against cold, disciplined violence. Within seconds, Rafael swept the intruder’s legs out from under him, slamming him hard against the tile floor and pinning him with a boot to his chest.
Marin knelt by her mother’s bed, checking the monitors. Her mother stirred slightly, opening her eyes and whispering softly.
“I’m here, Mom. I’m right here,” Marin whispered, tears streaming down her face as she held her mother’s frail hand.
Rafael looked down at the pinned intruder, pulling off the ski mask to reveal a scarred, unfamiliar face—a hired gun from the old guard, sent to burn the Santoro empire to the ground by targeting the one thing Rafael had sworn to protect: someone who couldn't fight back.
As sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer through the rainy Chicago streets, Rafael stood tall over the broken man.
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The war had finally begun. But as Rafael looked over at Marin and her mother resting safely in the quiet room, he knew one thing for certain:
The rule had been tested. And it would never, ever be broken again.
