Chapter 2 - Whispers in the Frost
The penthouse atop the Salvatore Tower was a fortress of glass, steel, and Italian marble. It was a place designed for isolation, a high-altitude sanctuary where Dominic could look down on the city he ruled without ever having to touch it.
Mrs. Gable, Dominic’s fiercely loyal, gray-haired housekeeper, took one look at Sofie wrapped in Dominic’s oversized coat and let out a soft, motherly gasp.
"Oh, the poor lamb," Mrs. Gable murmured, immediately kneeling in front of the girl. "Look at you, frozen to the bone. Come along, sweetheart. Let's get you into some dry clothes and find something warm for that belly."
Sofie looked up at Dominic, seeking approval.
"Go with Mrs. Gable, Sofie," Dominic said, offering a rare, gentle nod. "She makes the best grilled cheese in Chicago. I need to talk to my men, but I'll be right down the hall."
Once the double doors of the kitchen closed behind them, Dominic turned to Marco, who was waiting by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the frozen skyline.
"What do we know, Marco?" Dominic asked, his voice shedding all warmth, returning to the gravelly, lethal tone of the Salvatore don.
"Elena Winters is clean, Boss," Marco said, handing over a thick manila folder. "No criminal record. No debts. No shady associates. She works sixty hours a week at Chicago General, pays her taxes, and spends every spare second taking care of her sister. But we did find a connection."
Dominic opened the folder. A photograph of Elena Winters stared back at him.
She had the same striking blue eyes as Sofie, but her face carried a quiet, stubborn strength. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back, a soft, tired smile gracing her lips. She was beautiful, but in a way that felt entirely innocent—a stark contrast to the hollow, painted women who usually populated Dominic’s world.
"What's the connection?" Dominic asked, his eyes lingering on her picture.
"Three nights ago, a man was admitted to the ER with multiple gunshot wounds," Marco explained. "It was Frankie 'The Blade' Moretti. Victor Moretti’s younger cousin. The kid was bleeding out. Elena Winters was the primary nurse on duty in the trauma bay."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "Frankie died on the table."
"He did," Marco nodded. "But before he went into cardiac arrest, he was delirious. He was babbling. The police report says he died of his wounds, but our source inside the hospital says Frankie was whispering to Elena. He was terrified, screaming about a ledger, about Victor setting him up, and about a shipment coming in through the rail yards tonight."
Dominic closed the folder with a sharp snap.
"Victor Moretti thinks Frankie told her where the ledger is," Dominic realized. "Or what was in it."
"Exactly," Marco said. "If the Morettis find out she knows about their offshore accounts and police payoffs, she’s a dead woman. And if Victor thinks she told anyone else..."
"He’ll execute her to plug the leak," Dominic finished. He walked over to the gun safe hidden behind an abstract oil painting, punching in the code. "Get the men ready. We’re going to the rail yards."
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"Dominic, wait," Marco said, his voice cautious. "Going into Moretti territory with heavy artillery... that’s an act of war. The Commission will get involved. The peace we've kept for the last three years—"
"The peace died the moment they dragged a civilian into their dirt," Dominic growled, checking the chamber of his custom Kimber .45. "I don't care about the Commission. And I don't care about the peace."
