Eve's fingers traced the message on Mason's phone screen, its blue glow painting shadows across her face in the dimly lit penthouse bedroom. The text about Ethan's deadline with Ramirez burned into her mind, but her attention kept drifting to the man lying unconscious before her.Mason's chest rose and fell steadily, his features softened by sleep and medication. The bullet had torn through his shoulder, missing anything vital. Eve had patched him up with practiced efficiency. That's what obscene amounts of money bought in Chicago – making beds out of people."Helluva mess you stepped in," Eve muttered, adjusting the IV drip. Her fingers lingered on Mason's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. Something stirred in her chest – that damn feeling she'd been trying to squash more lately.First time that feeling hit her, she was just a scrawny kid, she'd been fifteen, face-to-face, trying to lift Leo King's wallet on Maxwell Street – stupid, desperate move.Her fingers? Then clumsy and col
Mason's eyes yanked open to harsh morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling bulletproofed windows. His shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat, a steady reminder of last night's firefight. Beside Mason's king-sized bed lay a bloody steel plate - the bullet that had tried to claim his life."Some guardian angel you got there, Rivers," Mason shifted, testing the limits of his bandaged shoulder. The movement sent lightning bolts of pain down his arm, but he'd had worse. Construction work wasn't exactly gentle on the body. Though these days, his calluses were getting soft, replaced by the kind of hands that signed death warrants instead of timecards.The crucifix on his wall caught his eye. Sister Agnes's voice rang in his head, clear as Sunday bells: "Remember, bambinos, every choice carves your soul."Mason almost laughed. If only the good Sister could see her star pupil now. The little boy who'd spent hours helping her tend the orphanage garden, now watering Chicago's streets with
Mason padded toward his kitchen, a parade of "Morning, boss" and "Looking berter, Mr. King" following him down the marble hallway. Even the cleaning lady, Maria, dropped her duster to bow slightly. "Coffee's fresh, señor Rivers. Colombian, like you prefer."The penthouse screamed money louder than a stool pigeon under pressure. Italian marble that cost more than most guys made in a year. Art worth killing for (and some of it actually had been). Floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of Chicago that'd make God jealous.The coffee maker - some fancy German thing that probably cost more than his first car - hummed to life like it was greeting its master. "Good morning, Mr. King," the digital display actually read, programmed to kiss his ring just like everyone else.As he waited for the imported coffee maker to work its magic, Mason caught his reflection in the chrome, Mason barely recognized himself. Gone was the wide-eyed kid who'd helped Sister Agnes plant flowers. These eyes belong
Mason's religion talk hit the room like a Tommy gun - loud and dangerous. Eve's fingers did their usual dance, hunting for steel at her hip. Something wasn't adding up, and in their world, math errors got people killed."Religion?" Eve barked out a laugh that'd wake the dead. "What's next? Joining them holy rollers down at Saint Mary's?"Mason squared his shoulders, Leo King's authority flooding his stance. "You forgetting Morrison's deal last spring? When I switched the whole game plan ten minutes before showtime because the feng shui felt wrong?"Eve's retort died in her throat. She remembered that night - Leo tearing up a million-dollar setup because something in his gut screamed sideways. They'd thought he'd lost it until the feds raided the original location exactly when they should've been there.Leo's little black book Mason had found turned out to be his ace in Eve's hole. Who knew it could be in this situation?"Or that time in Detroit," Mason continued, voice dropping to tha
Mason drummed his fingers on the mahogany table. Eve posted up by the door, loose but ready."Ramirez wants a sit-down. All seven families." Mason kept his voice flat.Sergei, a mountain in an expensive suit, leaned forward. "Last time families had such meeting, didn't make it home." His accent thick as molasses. "Was beautiful funeral though. Very expensive flowers."Sarah touched the fresh bandages at her neck. "Yeah, and those flowers ended up decorating five more graves before the month was out.""Different times," Thomas countered, cigarette smoke curling around his words. "Different players.""Same game though." Viktor's scarred hands splayed across blueprints of neutral territories. "Same rules. Same price for losing."Mason let that sink in. Outside, Chicago pretended to be honest while its real business happened in rooms like this."Boss." Sophia never looked up from her tablet. "Ramirez's movements last forty-eight hours. Three meetings with Ethan Langford. Two visits to Jud
Eve fell into step beside Mason as they strode toward Leo's office, her heels clicking a deadly rhythm on marble floors."You're really doing this thing." Not a question. Her voice carried something new - respect mixed with concern.Mason shouldered through Leo's office doors, breathing in that gotten familiar smell of money and power. "Doing what?""Getting in bed with the devil." Eve's lips curled mean. "In the pale moonlight."Mason dropped into his chair, ignoring his bad singing shoulder. "Way I see it, Chicago's already got its devil." His good hand found a crystal tumbler, amber liquid catching the light. "Might as well show him some new steps.""This ain't some back-alley dice game.""Never is." Dark laughter colored his words. "That's the trade."Mason settled behind his desk, ignoring the throb in his shoulder. "You're playing a dangerous game.""Always am." Mason's voice held dark amusement. "Nature of the business.""This is different." Eve leaned in close. "Ramirez ain't
"Wish I was." Eve pulled up her tablet, showing him the event page. "Noon at the Drake Hotel. Black tie, champagne brunch, silent auction - the whole nine yards. And you... Leo can't exactly ghost his own family shindig.""Christ." Mason's head spun. Friday's sit-down with Chicago's deadliest crime families, then Saturday glad-handing with the city's elite? "Talk about working both sides of the street.""Gets better." Eve scrolled names. Eve scrolled through the guest list. "Look who RSVPed."Mason's eyes went wide. "Ethan Langford.""Plus Olivia." Eve's voice softened. "Judge Martinez, Commissioner Burke - half of Ramirez's recent lunch dates."Mason pushed to his feet, his shoulder throbbing in time with his racing thoughts. He crossed to the window, watching his reflection ghosted against Chicago's skyline. In the glass, he saw both versions of himself - Mason Rivers, the nobody who'd lost everything, and Leo King, the man who owned this city's shadows."You know what this means, r
And Ethan? He's gonna learn what that word 'survival' really means. Mason smiled to all the thoughts weaving through his mind. He's gonna watch Ethan squirm while he pulls the rope tighter, day by day. Teaching him why you don't mess with another man's wife.""Letting Ramirez handle Ethan would be... efficient." Mason's fingers traced patterns on the cold glass. "Man's got a reputation for making problems disappear."Eve's approached. "But?""But efficient ain't satisfying." Mason's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Ramirez would make it quick. Business-like. Just numbers on a ledger.""And that's not what you want.""No." Mason turned from the window, his eyes holding that dangerous gleam Eve had learned to recognize. "I want Ethan to understand exactly how far he's fallen. Want him to feel what it's like when everything you built turns to ash in your mouth.""You're thinking long game.""Always am." Mason crossed to his desk, each step measured. "Get Sophia on