Chapter 2 - The Fire on Astor StreetThe news of the separation exploded through the Chicago underworld within twenty-four hours like a localized detonation.
To the outside world, Adrian Moretti was an untouchable king. But in a syndicate built on ancient Italian codes of honor, family, and public respect, a boss whose wife walks out on him after discovering an illegitimate child is a boss who appears vulnerable.
I didn't stay at the Drake Hotel. By noon the following day, I had moved into a small, secure apartment in Lincoln Park owned by my elder sister, Eleanor. I blocked Adrian’s phone number, changed my private email accounts, and retained the services of Arthur Vance—Chicago’s most formidable, unbothered high-asset divorce attorney.
At 4:00 PM on Thursday, three days after the anniversary dinner, Arthur met me inside his glass-walled conference room in Midtown.
“Adrian’s legal counsel called my office three times this morning, Claire,” Arthur said, sliding a thick manila folder across the polished mahogany table. “They aren't offering a counter-settlement. They are refusing to accept the petition entirely.”
I frowned, taking a sip of water. “He can’t refuse a legal divorce filing, Arthur.”
“He isn't refusing it through legal channels,” Arthur explained gently, his gray eyes filled with grave concern. “He instructed his lead attorney to tell me that any lawyer who files a formal court motion regarding his marriage will find their practice subjected to immediate, severe regulatory audits. Adrian isn't playing by civil court rules, Claire. He’s digging in his heels.”
My chest tightened. “He thinks he can force me back by suffocating my options.”
“Precisely,” Arthur nodded. “However, there is another issue you need to be aware of. Sofia Russo.”
The name made a cold spike of ice shoot through my chest. “What about her?”
Arthur opened the folder, pulling out several high-resolution surveillance photographs. They showed Sofia stepping out of an apartment building in River North, wearing a heavy wool coat, accompanied by two armed men in dark suits.
“Sofia isn't just Adrian’s mistress,” Arthur revealed softly. “She is the daughter of Gianni Russo—the former underboss of the Detroit syndicate who was executed five years ago during the territory restructuring. Her presence in Adrian’s organization was supposed to be a diplomatic bridge between the Chicago and Detroit factions.”
I stared at the photographs, my mind racing. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that Sofia’s pregnancy isn't just a personal betrayal, Claire,” Arthur said, leaning forward. “It’s a geopolitical nightmare for Moretti Holdings. If Detroit discovers that Adrian got Gianni Russo’s daughter pregnant and is now trying to pay her off to hide the child, they will view it as a direct insult to their honor. A war could break out across three states.”
Before I could answer, a sudden, heavy commotion echoed from the reception lobby outside the conference room.
Shouts rang out, followed by the sharp, metallic sound of security turnstiles being violently forced open.
The heavy glass doors of Arthur’s conference room swept open.
Adrian walked in.
He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his broad shoulders filling out the doorway, an aura of dark, terrifying authority surrounding him like a tempest. Behind him stood four armed guards, keeping Arthur’s terrified legal reception staff held back in the hallway.
Arthur stood up instantly, his hands flat on the table. “Mr. Moretti! This is a private legal office—you cannot barge in here without—”
Adrian didn't even look at Arthur. His dark, burning eyes locked onto me, taking in my silk blouse, my dark hair pulled back, and the pristine legal documents sitting between us.
“Out,” Adrian commanded, his voice a low, rumbling baritone that made the glass windows vibrate.
“Mr. Moretti, I am Mrs. Moretti’s legal counsel—” Arthur began bravely.
“Leave the room, Vance,” Adrian repeated, taking two slow steps toward the table, his hands shoven deep into his trousers pockets, his eyes never leaving my face. “Or I will buy this building by five o'clock and turn it into a parking lot. Leave us.”
Arthur looked at me, his eyes wide with worry and unspoken warning.
May you like
I offered my attorney a faint, reassuring nod. “It’s fine, Arthur. Give us ten minutes.”
Arthur hesitated, then gathered his notepad and walked out, pulling the heavy glass door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the room with the most feared man in Chicago.
Related Stories
