"I asked to take leftover chicken home for my 7-year-old son, and my manager laughed—unaware the most feared mafia boss in Chicago was standing right behind him."

My new life as the master restorer for the Hartwell Cultural Center brought an absolute, weightless peace to our world. Eli was enrolled in a wonderful private elementary school near our new, warm apartment in Lincoln Park, his cheeks rosy, his smile endless, and his belly always full of good food.

Every afternoon at 5:00 PM, Gabriel would step down into the private library, leaving his high-stakes corporate meetings behind, sitting in the leather armchair near my workbench while I worked on the folios.

We talked for hours—about literature, history, his late mother’s love for art, and Eli’s hilarious theories about dinosaur fossils.

I learned that beneath the feared, formidable reputation Gabriel held across Chicago sat a man of deep honor, fierce loyalty, and a fierce protective heart for the vulnerable.

On a cold Friday evening at 6:30 PM, I packed my conservation tools, locked the private library doors, and walked down the side stone alley toward my apartment building two blocks away.

The rain was falling softly against the cobblestones.

Suddenly, a heavy, rough hand shot out from the dark doorway near the service alley, grabbing my upper arm with a bruising, violent grip, dragging me backward into the shadows.

"Well, well, well," a harsh, raspy voice sneered near my ear. "Look at the high-and-mighty little restorer walking around like she owns Michigan Avenue."

I spun around, my heart hammering in my throat.

Standing in the dim alley light was Dennis Cole—my former supervisor from the Hartwell Grand Hotel.

He looked unkempt, disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, wearing a rumpled coat, smelling heavily of cheap whiskey.

"Dennis...?" I rasped out, trying to pull my arm free from his grip. "Let go of me!"

"You ruined my life, you little bitch!" Dennis spat, his fingers digging painfully into my arm. "Gabriel Hart audited my inventory logs because of you! He fired me! He blacklisted me from every hotel group in the city!"

"You fired yourself when you tried to throw away food while mocking a hungry child, Dennis!" I declared fiercely, trying to wrench my arm away.

Dennis pulled a dark, rusted pocketknife from his coat, flicking the four-inch blade open with a terrifying CLICK.

"You're going to call Hart right now," Dennis growled, pressing the cold steel tip against my coat collar. "You're going to tell him to drop the fraud charges against me, or I'm going to carve that pretty face of yours—"

BOOM!

A heavy, dark shadow descended upon the alley like a strike of lightning.