Chapter 2 - The Wrath of the Titan
The front entrance of the Rossi mansion did not open. It exploded.
The double mahogany doors, locked and bolted from the inside, were smashed off their heavy brass hinges by the front bumper of a black, armored Cadillac Escalade. The massive SUV slammed into the grand foyer, its tires screaming against the polished white marble floor, leaving thick black streaks of burning rubber across the room.
Before the dust and shattered glass could settle, five men poured out of the secondary vehicles parked outside.
They were dressed in rain-soaked dark suits, carrying short-barrel automatic rifles. At their head was Dante Vane—Leo Rossi’s chief enforcer, a man whose left cheek was marked by a jagged scar from a Sicilian blade.
Then came Leo Rossi.
He did not wear an overcoat. He wore a crisp, tailored black suit with the collar unbuttoned, his dark hair damp from the torrential downpour outside. His face was not expressive. It was an absolute, terrifying mask of stone—the face of a man who had commanded two thousand armed men through three gang wars without ever raising his voice.
He hadn't been in Miami.
The Miami trip had been a tactical ruse, a false itinerary leaked to his inner circle to catch an informant working with the New York syndicates. He had been five miles away, sitting in a private warehouse on the Chicago River, when the red phone in his office had buzzed.
Victoria Kensington stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, wrapped in her silk robe, holding a glass of sparkling water. Her face was pale, but she attempted to muster a look of outraged elegance.
“Leo!” Victoria cried, taking a step down the stairs, her voice fluttering with theatrical fear. “Thank God you’re home! It’s that fat maid—Beatrice! She’s completely lost her mind! She attacked me, Leo! She broke into your office and—”
Leo didn't even look up at her.
He kept walking across the foyer, his heavy leather shoes stepping directly over the shattered glass and splintered wood of his own front doors.
“Dante,” Leo said softly.
“Boss?”
“Put her in the study. If she opens her mouth before I return, break her jaw.”
Victoria gasped, her glass slipping from her fingers and shattering on the steps. “Leo! You can’t speak to me like that! My father—”
Dante grabbed Victoria by the back of her neck with a hand like a steel vise, wrenching her down the stairs so fast her slippers flew off, dragging her toward the formal study before she could finish her sentence.
Leo turned down the east corridor, his long strides covering the distance toward the basement stairs in seconds. His eyes caught the red droplets on the floor—small, neat spots of blood leading down the hallway toward his private office, and then doubling back toward the cellar.
He descended the dark concrete stairs three at a time.
At the end of the corridor, kneeling in the dim yellow light of a single bare bulb, was Beatrice Miller.
She looked broken. Her maid’s apron was torn in half, soaked with sweat, dirt, and blood. Her heavy body was curled against the bottom of the iron door, her forehead pressed against the freezing metal, her right hand feebly tapping out a rhythm against the frame.
“One... two... three...” Beatrice was whispering, her voice completely raspy and raw. “Blow out... the candles... Lily... please... blow out... the candles...”
Leo stopped three feet away.
For a second, the legendary boss of the Chicago underworld looked at the woman on the floor, and his chest heaved with a deep, violent breath.
“Beatrice,” he said.
She didn't hear him at first. She was still tapping her bruised knuckles against the iron.
Leo dropped to his knees beside her on the concrete floor. His big, calloused hand reached out and touched her shoulder.
Beatrice flinched violently, raising her arms to shield her head, her face pale with terror. “Don't! Please, don't lock her in—”
She stopped.
She looked through her swollen left eye and saw Leo Rossi kneeling in the dirt beside her.
“Mr. Rossi...” she whispered, a sob tearing out of her throat. “She’s inside... she’s not breathing right... the key... Victoria threw it in the vent...”
Leo didn't ask questions. He didn't waste time with words.
He reached into his shoulder holster, pulled out a heavy silver Sig Sauer pistol, and aimed it directly at the double deadbolts of the iron door.
“Cover your ears, Beatrice,” he commanded smoothly.
He pulled her heavy body back into his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to shield her face with his coat, and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The deafening roars echoed through the concrete basement like cannon fire. Sparks flew across the floor as the heavy steel lock mechanism was pulverized into twisted slag.
Leo kicked the iron door with his heavy boot.
BOOM!
The door swung wide open.
Inside the pitch-black room, lying on her side on the cold flagstones beside a row of dusty wine racks, was six-year-old Lily. Her face was blue, her lips purple, her small fingers clutching at her throat in total silence.
“Lily!” Leo roared, lunging into the room.
He scooped his daughter into his arms, pulling her small, limp body against his chest.
Beatrice scrambled into the room on her hands and knees, reaching into her apron pocket with shaking fingers. She pulled out a small, unopened plastic bottle of saltwater nasal spray she had found in the kitchen pantry—a trick her own mother had used when emergency inhalers failed.
“Put her on her side, Mr. Rossi!” Beatrice ordered, her voice suddenly commanding, completely stripped of fear. “Lay her head on my lap!”
Leo didn't hesitate. He laid his daughter’s head directly onto Beatrice’s lap.
Beatrice used two fingers to clear Lily’s mouth, tilted her head back to open the airway, and gently massaged the tight, spasming muscles of the child’s throat while forcing cool, gentle puffs of air into her mouth.
“Breathe, Lily,” Beatrice wept, rubbing the child’s chest in small, rhythmic circles. “Come on, baby. Come back to Bee. Breathe for your daddy.”
A terrifying, agonizing ten seconds passed in total silence.
Then, with a harsh, shuddering gasp, Lily’s chest expanded.
AAGHH!
A sharp cry broke from the child’s throat, followed by a frantic, weeping cough as air rushed back into her lungs. Lily’s small hands flew up, clutching tightly at the wet fabric of Beatrice’s blood-stained apron.
“Bee!” Lily sobbed, burying her small face into Beatrice’s stomach. “Bee! I couldn't breathe! The bad lady locked me in!”
Beatrice wrapped her arms around the child, pulling her close, rocking her back and forth on the dirty concrete floor, weeping openly. “I know, baby. I know. You’re safe now. Bee’s got you. Your daddy’s got you.”
Leo Rossi sat on the floor beside them, his heavy silver gun lying forgotten on the ground.
He reached out his massive hand and placed it over the back of Beatrice’s head, pulling both the maid and his daughter against his chest in a tight, crushing embrace.
May you like
His body was shaking.
“I have you,” Leo whispered, his voice rough as gravel, his cheek resting against Beatrice’s bloody hair. “I have both of you.”
