Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN THROUGH THE WINDOW
Glass shattered at 3:12 a.m. inside Chicago’s most notorious private club.
A woman collapsed across the mahogany threshold with one hand pressed against a devastating stab wound. She did not know that the territory she had entered belonged to Deari Castellano, a man who never permitted loose ends to remain.
Then he looked into her terrified eyes.
Neon reflected across the icy puddles lining Randolph Street. Chicago was unforgiving in November, with an aggressive wind cutting between the high-rises of the West Loop.
At that hour, the district was nearly deserted except for the occasional delivery truck.
The Cobalt Room was concealed behind a renovated meatpacking warehouse. It was an unmarked and expensive speakeasy, insulated from the city by thick walls and discreet entrances.
Inside, the air carried the scents of aged bourbon and costly cigar smoke.
Deari Castellano sat at the head of a broad oak poker table, studying the financial manifests spread across its surface.
As the undisputed leader of the Castellano syndicate, Deari operated within the hidden structures of Chicago. He controlled the ports, union contracts, and an extensive underground casino network.
He was a man of precise habits and rigid order. Even after a 14-hour day, his bespoke charcoal suit remained immaculate.
Leonardo, his underboss, sat across from him with a glass of Scotch while waiting for Deari’s decision concerning a disputed shipping route near Navy Pier.
Outside, the freezing wind concealed the sound of desperate footsteps.
Kalista O’Donnell was losing the struggle against her own body.
Each breath left her in a ragged and painful gasp, becoming white mist in the cold air.
Her left hand was pressed against her ribs. Her fingers were slick with blood that had already soaked through her beige trench coat.
A hunting knife had entered beneath her rib cage 10 minutes earlier.
The man who stabbed her had been a masked enforcer waiting inside an alley near Halsted Street.
Kalista escaped by running through a maze of loading docks, but the adrenaline that had kept her moving was disappearing.
Streetlights blurred into long yellow halos.
Tucked securely beneath her right arm, wrapped in a plastic bag to protect it from the weather, was a black leather ledger.
It was the only reason she continued moving.
The ledger belonged to Valdemar Long, a ruthless Irish mobster who presented himself publicly as a legitimate real-estate developer.
The book contained names, dates, and offshore-account records proving that Long had ordered the murder of Kalista’s older brother, Thomas.
Thomas had been an investigative journalist who came too close to exposing the organization.
Kalista stumbled forward, her boots scraping against the concrete.
She needed somewhere to hide before Long’s men found her trail again.
Through her failing vision, she saw the Cobalt Room’s oak doors and heavy brass handles.
There was no sign above the entrance and no bouncer outside at that hour, but warm light showed beneath the threshold.
It was a desperate gamble.
Kalista struck the door with her body.
It was locked.
Panic entered her as heavy footsteps sounded from the alley behind her.
The men pursuing her were approaching.
A heavy iron trash receptacle stood near the curb.
Kalista dragged it toward a side window made from frosted reinforced glass.
Using the final reserve of her strength, she drove the iron container into the pane.
The crash broke the silence of the street.
Inside the Cobalt Room, Deari did not flinch.
Leonardo and 3 armed associates drew suppressed pistols and aimed toward the sound.
The frosted glass collapsed.
A figure came through the jagged opening and brought the heavy velvet curtains down with her.
Kalista struck the hardwood floor and began coughing violently.
Her coat opened, revealing the extent of the arterial bleeding beneath it.
She attempted to rise, but her arms failed.
Kalista collapsed onto her side.
“Do not move,” Leonardo ordered.
His weapon was aimed at her head.
“Give me 1 reason not to place a hollow-point round inside your skull.”
Kalista could not answer.
Her eyes moved across the richly furnished room, the drawn weapons, and the man sitting calmly at the head of the table.
Deari rose.
He lifted 1 hand.
The weapons lowered slightly, although the tension remained.
Deari walked around the table.
His polished Oxford shoes made measured sounds against the floor.
He stopped beside Kalista and looked down at her with an unreadable expression.
To Deari, she was an anomaly.
People did not enter his private sanctuary accidentally.
“Examine the perimeter,” he ordered.
Two men moved immediately toward the broken window and searched the freezing street.
“Boss, she is bleeding across the Persian rug,” Leonardo said.
He kept his pistol directed toward Kalista’s chest.
“This could be a trap. Long’s men have been testing our boundaries throughout the week.”
“She does not work for Long.”
Deari studied the details.
Kalista’s hands were carefully maintained but bruised. Her boots were practical but heavily scuffed. Despite the blood loss, she held the plastic-wrapped object against her body with desperate protectiveness.
“She is running from him.”
Kalista’s vision narrowed.
“Please,” she whispered.
Her hand loosened.
The black leather book slipped partly from the protective plastic.
Deari saw the seal embossed into its cover.
It was a Celtic cross intertwined with a serpent.
Valdemar Long’s private mark.
Deari’s demeanor changed.
He saw an opportunity concealed within the tragedy.
Long’s personal ledger was almost mythical in the criminal world. It was the key to dismantling his financial organization.
The dying woman had entered Long’s defenses and stolen it.
“Boss, we have movement down the street,” 1 of the men at the window reported. “Two black SUVs stopped and turned off their lights.”
Leonardo looked toward Deari.
“It is Valdemar’s cleanup team.”
“Leonardo,” Deari said.
His voice cut through the rising panic.
“Take her downstairs immediately. Call Aris and tell him we require trauma surgery in the basement.”
Deari’s eyes remained on Kalista.
“If she dies, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“Are you insane?” Leonardo demanded. “If Valdemar discovers that we are protecting the person who stole from him, this becomes open war.”
“It is already war.”
Deari bent down and collected the ledger.
He looked at Kalista, who had lost consciousness with her pale face against the wood.
“She brought us the nuclear codes.”
May you like
Deari straightened.
“Secure the building.”
