Chapter 3 - The Purge of the LieBy 7:00 A.M., the winter sun broke pale and cold over the Chicago skyline, casting long, grey shadows across the frozen surface of Lake Michigan.
Inside the master bedroom of the penthouse, the air was suffocating.
I stood before the large walk-in closet, my jaw set into a rigid, terrifying line, my storm-grey eyes completely hollow.
Standing in the hallway, looking nervous and deeply alarmed, was Vanessa Russo.
She wore a cashmere coat, her dark hair styled, her wrist gleaming with the eighteen-carat diamond bracelet I had bought her two weeks ago. She had rushed to the penthouse after receiving my urgent summons, expecting to find me ready to go on a private getaway.
Instead, she found thirty armed security guards standing in the foyer, and the Don of Chicago standing beside a pile of garbage bags.
"Adrian...!" Vanessa gasped, stepping into the bedroom, her high heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. "What is going on?! Daniel wouldn't let me talk to you in the lobby! He said Claire—"
"Take off the bracelet, Vanessa," I interrupted.
My voice wasn't raised. It dropped into a cold, lethal register that made the hair on Vanessa's arms stand up.
Vanessa froze mid-step, her wide brown eyes looking at me in utter confusion. "What... what did you say?"
"Take off the bracelet," I repeated, turning slowly to face her. "Take off the diamond necklace from Christmas. Take off the coat I bought you in Milan. Leave your apartment keys on that table, and step out of my sight."
Vanessa’s face went paper-white, her mouth opening and closing in total, speech-bound shock. "Adrian! Are you insane?! Claire left you! She took the babies and ran like a lunatic! You should be celebrating that you're finally free of that quiet, boring—"
BOOM!
My broad hand slammed flat against the doorframe beside her head with thunderous force, making the heavy glass panes rattle violently.
"Say one more word about my wife, Vanessa," I whispered, leaning down until my face was inches from her pale, sweating forehead, "and I will ensure your father's shipping licenses are permanently liquidated by noon today."
Vanessa let out a sharp, choked shriek of pure terror. With trembling fingers, she unhooked the eighteen-carat diamond bracelet, threw it onto the dresser, unzipped her cashmere coat, dropped her keys flat onto the floor, and ran out through the master suite doors in weeping, hysterical ruin.
I didn't watch her leave.
I turned back to the phone in my hand, sliding the screen open, calling my chief of security.
"Daniel," I commanded cleanly.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Cancel every secondary security clearance held by the Russo family across our Midwest territory," I ordered flatly. "Seize the SoHo penthouse. Liquidate the private yacht accounts. And deploy every private detective, legal proxy, and off-grid intelligence operative we own from Illinois to the Canadian border."
Daniel hesitated on the line. "Boss... what are your orders if we locate Mrs. Vance?"
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I looked through the open doorway toward the nursery—staring at the two empty walnut cribs resting beneath the wooden stars we had painted together when the world was full of hope.
"You don't touch her, Daniel," I promised, my voice cracking with a raw, agonizing vow. "You don't approach her. You don't bring guards. You report her location to me... and I go alone."
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