Trying to kill time, Ethan stood to watch Chicago from up here in his penthouse. Chicago spread out below him like his personal kingdom. The penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows framed Chicago's skyline, all those lights twinkling like scattered diamonds.All that power. His power.Speaking of diamonds...Ethan's fingers tapped a familiar number. The auction house's receptionist answered on the second ring."Morrison's Private Collections, how may I assist you?""Judas Morrison. Put him on." Ethan's voice carried the weight of old money.A pause. "I'm sorry, Mr. Morrison is in a meeting—""Tell him it's Ethan Langford." He examined his manicured nails. "He'll take it."Muzak filtered through the line. Ethan's mind wandered to the King family's charity luncheon. Such a perfect opportunity. All of Chicago's elite gathered in one place, including their precious Aurora Borealis."Ethan!" Judas's voice boomed through the speaker. "To what do I owe the pleasure?""That King girl." Ethan kep
Mason strolled up to Jake's apartment complex in a modest sedan - not the kind of ride Leo King would be caught dead in, but perfect for keeping a low profile. The box with him held a stack of comic books, medical journals for Sarah, and a tablet loaded with games for Tommy.Chicago's late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the crumbling concrete, highlighting every crack and water stain on the building's facade. The place looked even worse than Mason remembered. A constant reminder of how the other half lived - the half he used to belong to.The security door buzzed him in, its hinges protesting with a screech that made Mason wince. Jake's voice crackled through the ancient intercom: "Third floor's still working, brother. Elevator's about as reliable as campaign promises."Mason took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell. The smell of curry from 2B mixed with cleaning supplies from the super's closet. Some things never changed.Jake waited in his
Here was the moment - the chance to set his plan in motion. The weight of his plan sat heavy in his gut. Mason took a deep breath, letting the night air fill his lungs."Got a lead on a job," Mason said, keeping his voice casual. "Risk Assessment Manager position. Real corporate stuff, benefits package that'd make your union rep jealous."Jake's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah? What's the fine print?""No fine print. Company's called LangCorp Technologies." Mason watched Jake's face carefully. "They're restructuring, looking for fresh blood in management.""LangCorp?" Jake recoiled. "Ain't that your wife's new sugar daddy's company? Hell no, Mason. That's like twisting the knife."Mason held up a hand, shoulders strained. Thankfully he's managed so far to hide the injured shoulder away from Jake's notice. "Was his company. Word is Langford sold off seventy percent of his shares. Different beast now.""Still..." Jake's jaw worked. "After what that bastard did to you?""This ain't about him."
Mason's phone buzzed. Again. Like a damn wasp that wouldn't quit.He squared up, pulling on Leo's blue-blood swagger like a tailored suit. Time to play make-believe with mommy dearest."Mother." Mason infused his voice with practiced warmth. "What a pleasant surprise.""Pleasant? Is that what we're calling it now?" Helena King's voice dripped acid-sweet sarcasm. "Six months of you playin' ghost on me, and now what – you expect me to be all sunshine and roses? Maybe I oughta ring you up every hour on the hour, yeah? Give ya a taste of what *pleasant disturbance* really feels like, sugar."Mason winced. "Listen, Ma—""Oh spare me the escuses, darling." Helena cut through his words. "Don't think I forgot the annual King Foundation Charity Luncheon darling. Saturday when the clock strikes noon. All the big shots and their dames'll be there, dressed to the nines." A pause pregnant with meaning. "Memory still working, or did that ghost too?"Mason's insides did a free-fall. Another test of
"Hmm." Eve tapped her chin in mock consideration. "Spend my Saturday watching Chicago's elite pretend they're not terrified of you while eating overpriced rubber chicken?" Something wicked flashed in her eyes. "Wouldn't miss it. And that's a 'you owe me big time.'" Eve stretched, the movement doing interesting things to her silk nightwear. "Besides, got the perfect present for mommy dearest, too."Mason's eyebrows climbed. "Present?""The diamond necklace you gave me on your birthday." Eve's face softened. "Eve..." Mason's voice softened. "That was a gift.""And now it's a strategic move." Eve's smile turned calculating. "Six months without showing face? She'll be expecting groveling. Instead, her boy's new... companion presents her with a small fortune in diamonds?" She shrugged. "Besides, what better way to say 'potential daughter-in-law material'?"Mason's brain stalled. "Daughter-in-law?""Well, what else would she think?" Eve's smile turned wicked. "We've been practically living
Mason adjusted his silk tie in the mirror, studying the reflection like a general inspecting troops. The hand-tailored Brioni suit - charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes - draped his frame like liquid money. A blood-red pocket square added the perfect dash of menace."Looking sharp, boss." Eve lounged in the doorway of his private suite, already dressed to kill in a black Versace number that hugged curves like a second skin. "Though I still say you're making a mistake leaving me behind."Mason's smirked, watching her reflection. His mind drifted to their first job together - the way she'd slit a traitor's throat without getting a drop on her designer heels. "What's wrong, piccola morte? Afraid I can't handle myself without my guardian angel?""What can I say?" Eve slunk into the room, stalking closer on stiletto heels that could double as weapons. "Seven of Chicago's finest scumbags in one place? That's better than Christmas." Her fingers twitched, probably imagining all the throats b
Ramirez let the silence stretch, savoring the moment. His cream suit stood out against the room's shadows – como un faro en la oscuridad, a beacon in the darkness. He'd chosen it specifically for that effect. In this business, appearance was everything. Power was about perception, after all."Miren, señores." Ramirez's voice carried the weight of tradition. "Our beautiful Chicago bleeds herself dry while we sit here playing games." His gaze locked onto Mason, dark and knowing. "Because someone decided the old rules don't apply anymore."Tommy Chen's dragon tattoos danced across his neck as he shifted. "Rules change, old man. City changes too.""Ay, pero la tradición?" Ramirez's hands painted pictures in the air. "Tradition keeps our world spinning. Break that wheel...chaos follows." His smile showed teeth. "Isn't that right, Leone?"Mason kept still, fought the urge to roll his shoulder where the bullet had left its mark. Through eyes trained by years on the street, he cataloged detai
Mason's laugh caught them all off guard – genuine amusement bubbling up from some deep well. "You know what's funny? "All this fancy talk about order, tradition and respect - makes my teeth hurt." His gaze locked onto Ramirez like a sniper's scope. "But y'all missed something real important.""Then enlighten us." Santos leaned forward in his wheelchair."Why now?" Mason's voice carried through the dusty air. "Why this meeting? Why these accusations?" His gaze swept the table. "You want to talk about unusual patterns? Let's talk about timing."Ramirez's drumming finger went still. "¿Qué estás diciendo, Mason? Meaning exactly?""Three major operations hit in one night. Precision strikes, inside information." Mason's smile was winter frost. "Almost like someone knew exactly where to hurt you. Which means either your security's worth shit, or...""Or?" The Calabrese twins moved in perfect mirror-image, both tilting forward like wolves catching a scent."Or someone's been feeding informati