The brass bullet rested against the mahogany table, casting a long shadow under the chandelier. The countdown had officially started.
"I need my passport, my mother's relics, and my private ledger," I told Dante. I kept my posture rigid, refusing to look at the weapon.
Dante adjusted his cuffs, his expression completely blank. "One suitcase. Take what you can carry. Nothing more."
"And she doesn't pack alone," Bianca interjected, snapping her fingers at two armed men near the door. "Watch her. Make sure she doesn't pocket any family assets."
"I have no interest in your money, Bianca," I said, turning on my heel.
The walk up the grand staircase felt entirely different this time. For eight years, this house had been my fortress. Now, the walls felt like a cage closing in. The two guards flanked me, their heavy footsteps echoing against the marble tiles.
I pushed open the bedroom door and walked straight to the walk-in closet. I pulled a black leather overnight bag from the top shelf and threw it onto the mattress.
"Open the wall safe," the taller guard ordered, resting his hand on his holster.
I spun the brass dial, entering the combination. The heavy steel door clicked open. Inside, stacks of hundred-dollar bills sat untouched. Next to the cash lay our marriage certificate, the thick parchment mocking me.
But I ignored the money and the paper. My fingers closed around the small titanium casing of my financial signature key.
I turned it over in my palm. A fresh, jagged scratch marred the metal surface near the USB port. Someone had physically jammed it into a terminal.
"Put it in the bag," the guard demanded, stepping closer.
"Just a second," I replied.
I grabbed the offline digital camera sitting on my vanity desk. Before the guard could react, I snapped a clear photo of the scratched casing and the engraved serial number beneath it.
"Hey! No electronics," the second guard barked, snatching the camera from my hands.
"I just need the memory card," I told him, popping the tiny plastic square out of the slot and slipping it into my pocket. "Keep the camera."
I moved to my laptop on the desk and booted it up.
"Step away from the computer," the tall guard warned, drawing his weapon halfway.
"I am revoking my personal guarantor status from the triad of holding companies," I said, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "Check the screen. Not a single cent of Rizzo money is moving."
The guard squinted at the terminal, watching the authorization codes dissolve. He grunted and stepped back. The funds remained untouched. I shut the laptop.
I zipped the leather bag shut and grabbed the handle. As I turned toward the hallway, Luca blocked the doorframe.
"Dad had no choice, Elena," Luca muttered, his gaze fixed on the floorboards. "The capos needed blood for the lost shipment."
I dropped the suitcase handle. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver St. Jude medal.
"You wore this for three days straight when you had pneumonia at fourteen," I said, stepping into his personal space. I pressed the cool metal into his palm. "You cried if I left the room for even a minute."
Luca swallowed hard. His fingers curled around the medal, his knuckles turning white. "Elena, please."
"You made your choice downstairs, Luca," I told him, my voice perfectly steady. "Keep this. I don't need it anymore."
I walked past him, dragging the heavy bag over the threshold. He didn't turn around.
Outside, the night air bit through my silk dress. Bianca stood by a running sedan at the bottom of the driveway. A burly driver sat behind the wheel, tapping his fingers against the dashboard.
"Your usual SUV is impounded," Bianca stated, tossing a cigarette onto the gravel. "Bruno will take you to the city limits."
I stared at Bruno. I recognized that scar on his neck. He ran the South Side warehouse district, a dead zone with zero traffic cameras and a high mortality rate.
"No thanks," I said, gripping my luggage handle tighter.
"It wasn't a request," Bianca sneered, signaling Bruno to get out of the car.
Headlights swept over the iron gates. A yellow city cab pulled up to the security checkpoint, the engine rattling loudly in the quiet night.
"My lawyer retains a transport service for emergencies," I told Bianca, nodding toward the cab. "They log every passenger pickup with the dispatcher and track the GPS."
Bianca's jaw tightened. She couldn't shoot me in front of a civilian cab driver while Dante's midnight deadline still hung in the air. The capos would demand an explanation for a premature execution.
"Open the gate," Bianca ordered the security shack.
I walked to the cab and popped the trunk. As I slid my suitcase in, I unzipped the hidden interior lining. I shoved the scratched titanium key deep into the fabric, concealing it completely.
I slid into the back seat and pulled out my phone. I quickly inserted the memory card, connected to the cellular network, and emailed the photo of the scratched key to my lawyer's neutral blind-trust server. The upload bar hit one hundred percent. Now, even if Bianca killed me, she couldn't erase the physical evidence of the forgery.
"Midnight, Elena," Bianca warned through the open window, her hand resting near her holster.
"Tell Dante to check his ledgers," I replied, rolling the window up.
The cab lurched forward, leaving the sprawling Rizzo estate behind.
"Where to, lady?" the driver asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
"Take I-90 East," I instructed, keeping my eyes glued to the glass. "And step on it."
"Sure thing."
We merged onto the interstate, the orange streetlights flashing across the vinyl seats. I checked my watch. Ten o'clock. I had two hours to cross the county line before I became an open target for every hitman in Chicago.
I stared into the side mirror, watching the traffic patterns.
Two unmarked black sedans merged onto the highway, exactly three car lengths behind us. They matched our speed perfectly.
As we hit the dark stretch of the straightaway, both sets of headlights snapped off, plunging the pursuing vehicles into total darkness as they accelerated straight toward our bumper.
