I was sure bringing my daughter to work would get me fired. Instead, I walked into the most terrifying office in Chicago and found the city's most feared mafia boss asleep on the couch... with my little girl curled safely against his chest. Then one quiet question about her father shattered everything I thought I knew.

The Drake Hotel was a fortress of old-world luxury, its crystal chandeliers and velvet drapes providing a sharp contrast to the brutal reality of the men who occupied its penthouse suites.

By midnight, the hotel’s private gold coast room had been cleared of regular guests. Roman’s security detail had taken over the perimeter, their earpieces humming with constant status reports from the lobby below. I sat in a small, secured ante-room just off the main hall, holding Lily as she drank a carton of milk that Silvano had procured from the kitchen.

Through the heavy double doors, I could hear the muted murmur of voices—the low, gravelly tones of Chicago’s old captains mixing with the sharper, more aggressive accents of the New York delegation.

"They're pushing for the transit routes, boss," Silvano whispered as he stepped into the ante-room, his face pale under the bright lights. "Don Moretti brought his nephew, Leo. The one who was supposed to marry into the family. He’s asking why the billing ledgers from the shipping docks haven't been turned over for the annual audit."

Roman was standing near a small liquor cabinet, pouring two fingers of dark rye into a heavy crystal glass. He hadn't changed out of his suit, but he had removed his tie, the top buttons of his white shirt undone to reveal the thick, silver medallion of St. Jude that his mother had given him before she passed.

"The ledgers stay with Clara," Roman said, his voice entirely steady. "If Leo Moretti wants to see the distributions, he can ask me himself in front of the commission."

He walked over to me, kneeling down so he was at eye level with Lily. She looked at him, her small mouth covered in a white milk mustache, and reached out to touch the silver medallion hanging from his neck. Roman didn't pull away. He let her small fingers wrap around the metal, a faint, rare smile breaking through his severe features.

"She has his eyes, Clara," Roman said softly. "Caleb always looked at the world like he was trying to solve a puzzle that no one else could see. Even when we were kids in the south side, he’d sit by the radiator with those old accounting books, turning the pages until his fingers were black with ink."

"Do you think he's still in the city, Roman?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the distant rumble of the conference room.

"If he's alive, he’s here," Roman said, his hand resting gently on Lily’s head. "Caleb wouldn't leave the Great Lakes perimeter. He knew the transit lines too well. He knew that if he ever needed to get you out of the country in a hurry, the water routes through Superior were the only way to beat the federal radars."

The double doors suddenly swung open, and Marcus stepped into the room, his hand pressed firmly against his earpiece. His expression was taut, his eyes wide with an immediate, volatile urgency.

"Boss," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a tense whisper. "We have a situation at the southern gate of the hotel. A delivery vehicle just breached the perimeter. The driver bypassed the security check and ran the truck straight into the loading bay."

Roman stood up instantly, his physical stature reasserting itself like a coiled spring. "Who is it? Moretti’s people?"

"No, sir," Marcus said, swallowing hard. "The security team caught the driver on the basement monitors. He’s wearing a greasy canvas jacket and an old Pilsen auto shop cap. And he’s holding a ledger that matches the missing 2024 transit books."