Chapter 4 - The Betrayal & The KidnappingThe discovery of Claire’s betrayal sent shockwaves through the Moretti organization. Victor Falcone, realizing his insider plot had failed, immediately pulled his men back into hiding, plunging Chicago into an uneasy, explosive quiet.
For three days, the Moretti estate was under maximum lockdown.
Adrian hardly slept. He worked around the clock alongside Nathan, systematically purging every sector of his business to ensure no other traitors remained.
Yet, despite the chaos, Adrian spent every free moment with Elena. They ate dinner together in his private dining room, talked about her dream of opening a new bakery, and shared quiet, tender kisses away from the prying eyes of the guards.
On Sunday morning, the rain finally cleared, giving way to bright sunshine.
Elena was in the estate garden, letting Winston run through the grass. Nathan stood fifty yards away near the stone gazebo, scanning the perimeter with binoculars.
"He's getting faster," Nathan observed, stepping over to Elena as Winston chased a yellow butterfly.
"He's getting fatter," Elena corrected with a chuckle. "Too many leftover brioche crusts."
Nathan’s satellite phone buzzed. He answered it, listened for three seconds, and his expression turned grave.
"Elena, I need you to go inside right now," Nathan said calmly, reaching for his firearm.
"What is it?"
"A delivery truck just crashed through the outer gate," Nathan warned, pulling her behind him. "Move!"
Before they could reach the main terrace, three black SUVs blew past the lower driveway, tires screeching over the gravel.
Armed men clad in tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, opening fire on the estate guards. The sound of automatic gunfire shattered the quiet morning.
"Inside!" Nathan roared, returning fire as he pushed Elena toward the side entrance of the conservatory.
Elena grabbed Winston, tucking the terrified puppy into her coat, and ran.
Inside the conservatory, glass shattered as bullets struck the greenhouse windows. Elena scrambled behind a massive stone planter, her heart pounding violently against her ribs.
A heavy footstep echoed nearby.
Before she could scream, a thick, leather-gloved hand clamped over her mouth.
A large, scarred man wearing a Falcone crest dragged her backward out of the glass house toward a waiting van parked in the blind spot of the courtyard.
Elena kicked wildly, slamming her heavy heel down onto her attacker’s foot. The man grunted in pain but maintained his vice-like grip, shoving a chemical-soaked rag over her nose and mouth.
"Sweet dreams, baker girl," the man growled.
The world dissolved into darkness.
Ten minutes later, Adrian arrived at the conservatory, his face pale, his suit covered in dust, his gun smoking.
Nathan was slumped against the conservatory wall, bleeding from a shoulder wound, surrounded by four dead Falcone mercenaries.
"Where is she?" Adrian screamed, grabbing Nathan by his lapels. "NATHAN! WHERE IS SHE?"
"They... they took her, Boss," Nathan choked out, coughing up blood. "A second strike team... they had her before we could lock down the wing..."
A small, whimpering sound came from beneath an overturned wicker chair.
Winston crawled out, dragging a torn black glove in his mouth—a glove belonging to Victor Falcone's top enforcer, Marco "The Butcher" Rossi.
Adrian fell to his knees in the broken glass. He picked up the glove, his hands trembling with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage.
The cold, calculating Don of Chicago vanished. In his place awoke a monster driven by a singular, unyielding purpose.
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He stood up, his eyes turning to liquid ice.
"Call every captain," Adrian ordered, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Call the Russians. Call the Irish. Tell them Adrian Moretti is burning Chicago to the ground today."
