Chapter 13 - THE RUSSIAN GHOST
By midnight, the estate’s underground war room was a cloud of cigar smoke and tension. Lorenzo stood at the head of the heavy oak table, his eyes dark and merciless. Beside him, Evelyn analyzed a digital map of the South Side docks, tracking the explosive signatures. Dante paced the length of the room, his arm bandaged from a piece of flying shrapnel.
"It wasn't a local crew," Evelyn stated, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the surviving capos. "The explosive residue—RDX compounded with a specific chemical tracer—is militarized. It’s not something you buy on the street in Chicago. It’s imported."
Lorenzo looked at her, his jaw tight. "Who imported it?"
"The Volkov Bratva," Dante spat, his face pale. "Rumors have been floating around New York that they wanted to expand westward. With the Vanes gone, they must have thought Chicago was soft. That we had gone completely legitimate and lost our teeth."
"They thought wrong," Lorenzo whispered, his voice dangerously low. "Evelyn, track the financial shell companies operating out of the port over the last month. The Volkovs couldn't have moved military-grade explosives without a local front. Dante, mobilize the street soldiers. I want every Russian front business in the city locked down. If they want a war, we will drown them in it."
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As the capos dispersed, Lorenzo pulled Evelyn into his arms. The smell of smoke and gunpowder lingered on his suit. "I promised you a life of peace," he murmured into her hair.
Evelyn looked up into his eyes, her gaze unwavering. "You promised to protect me, and I promised you my heart. We fight this together, Lorenzo. We don't go back to the shadows. We drag them into the light and burn them."
