Chapter 4 - The Line drawn in Gold
By late November, the city was shivering under a blanket of heavy snow, and the atmospheric pressure around the Rossi estate had reached a boiling point.
Victor Moretti had officially declared war.
Over three weeks, two of Zo's warehouses were targeted in arson attacks, and three border territories were ambushed. Yet through it all, Zo remained a masterclass in calm, brutal control. He reinforced his supply lines, tightened security across the South Side, and ensured that the daily rhythm of my life with Mia remained entirely undisturbed.
Every evening at five o'clock, regardless of how intense his high-level meetings were, Zo would pause everything to walk me down to the security sedan waiting in the courtyard.
One evening, as the snow fell softly over the estate grounds, Zo walked beside me under a large black umbrella.
"How is Mia doing with her new school?" Zo asked, his voice cutting through the quiet crunch of snow beneath our boots.
"She loves it," I smiled, looking up at him through the cold air. "She got an A on her spelling test today. She wanted me to give you a drawing she made."
I reached into my bag and pulled out a folded piece of construction paper.
Zo stopped under the glow of the courtyard lantern, opening the paper. It was a colorful crayon drawing of three figures holding hands under a bright yellow sun—Mia, me, and a tall man in a black suit labeled Mr. Zo.
Zo stared at the drawing for a long, quiet moment. The snowflakes settled on his dark hair, but he didn't seem to notice.
"She's a very talented artist," Zo said softly, his voice thick with a rare, unspoken emotion. He folded the paper carefully and slid it into the inner pocket of his coat, right over his heart.
"Zo," I said, stepping closer to him, the freezing wind blowing a stray lock of hair across my face. "Be careful. Please. I hear the guards talking. Moretti is getting desperate."
Zo looked down at me, reaching out a gloved hand to gently brush the hair back from my cheek. His touch was incredibly tender for a man whose name struck terror into the hearts of criminals across the Midwest.
"I have spent fifteen years living for revenge, Tessa," Zo whispered, his dark eyes locking onto mine with fierce sincerity. "For the first time in my life, I have something worth living for. I am not going anywhere."
Before I could answer, his driver opened the door of the Escalade. I stepped inside, watching through the tinted glass as Zo stood in the falling snow, watching over me until the gates swung shut.
Two nights later, the war arrived at our front door.
It was 11:30 PM. Mia was fast asleep in her room, and I was sitting on the living room sofa reading a book when the emergency lights in our apartment building suddenly flashed red.
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The power cut out completely, plunging the room into darkness.
Seconds later, the heavy reinforced front door was blown off its hinges with a deafening explosion.
