Chapter 5 - The Price of Protection"No," Maya sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "David’s firm is everything he’s worked for. It’s our livelihood. If we sign those papers over to a shell company controlled by Vance, we'll be bankrupt by the end of the month."
"You won't sign anything," Ethan stated, his voice cutting through the panic in the conservatory like a razor blade.
David looked up, desperate and terrified. "Mr. Callahan, with all due respect, you don't understand Vance. He’s ruthless. He controls the dock unions, the North Side bookies, half the magistrates in Cook County. If we don't give him what he wants, he will find us. He will kill us."
Ethan didn't raise his voice. He didn't blink. He simply took two steps closer to David until the younger man instinctively shrank back.
"Marcus Vance controls what I allow him to control," Ethan said quietly, each word falling like a lead weight onto the glass table. "For the past five years, I’ve let him run his little gambling rings and scrap metal scams in the outer wards because it kept the peace. I tolerated him. That was my mistake."
Ethan turned his head, his dark gaze locking onto mine.
"Tomorrow night, Marcus Vance is hosting a private high-stakes poker game at his warehouse club off Cermak Road," Ethan continued. "Every major player in the Chicago syndicate will be there. Including Vance."
"What does that have to do with us?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"Everything," Ethan replied. "Because tomorrow night, I am going to dismantle Marcus Vance’s entire empire. Every bank account, every shell company, every muscle-bound thug on his payroll. And I am going to do it while standing in the middle of his own living room."
"You're going to war," David whispered, horrified.
"I'm going to take out the trash," Ethan corrected smoothly. He stepped toward me, gently resting his hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his palm sent an electric shock straight through my cotton blouse. "And you, Rachel, are going to help me."
May you like
"Me?" I gasped. "I don't know anything about syndicates or poker games! I'm a diner waitress from East L.A.!"
"You're not just a waitress," Ethan said, his thumb brushing lightly against my collarbone. "You're the key. Vance thinks he holds all the cards because he has your father's old debt ledger. Tomorrow night, we are going to hand him the ledger—and the detonator attached to it."
