Chapter 6 - The Trap Springing
Three days later, the storm broke over Chicago with a vengeance that matched the violence boiling beneath the city’s surface.
Harrison Albright had been arrested at O’Hare International Airport while attempting to board a private jet to the Cayman Islands. His arrest made front-page news across the country, unravelling a massive web of corporate fraud, judicial bribery, and syndicate money laundering that brought down half the city’s political elite.
The O’Connell brothers, realizing their network was collapsing around them, grew desperate.
And desperation made men stupid.
Inside the Highland Park estate, the security systems were operating at peak efficiency. Motion sensors swept the perimeter, infrared cameras tracked every shadow along the lakefront, and armed guards patrolled the grounds in the pouring rain.
Dominic was in the underground security bunker reviewing satellite feeds when his secure terminal beeped.
A red alert flashed across the screen.
Perimeter breach. Sector Four—East Gate.
Dominic’s hand dropped instantly to his holster. “Marcus, Dante—we have movement.”
Before Dante could answer, a dull, concussive thud echoed from the upper floors of the main house.
Glass shattered.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He vaulted up the spiral concrete stairs three at a time, pulling his suppressed Glock from its holster. The lights in the main hallway flickered and died, plunging the estate into the pale, strobing glow of emergency backup generators.
“Nora!” Dominic shouted, his voice cutting through the dark like a blade.
He raced down the east wing corridor toward her suite.
When he kicked open the double doors, the room was empty. The French windows leading out to the balcony were blown inward, glass glittering across the Persian rug like scattered diamonds. Rain poured into the bedroom, soaking the white carpet.
On the floor near the bed lay a discarded cell phone, its screen glowing with a single incoming text message from an unknown number:
If you want to see the widow alive, bring yourself and the ledger to the old brick warehouses on the South Side docks. You have twenty minutes.
Dominic’s face went completely, terrifyingly blank.
The anger he had kept locked behind iron doors for five months didn't flare up—it crystallized into a cold, hyper-focused rage that burned hotter than white phosphorus.
May you like
He picked up the phone, tapped his collar comms, and spoke into the dark.
“Dante. Marcus. Arm the teams. We’re going hunting.”
