Chapter 4 - A Devil’s Bargain
speed into the VIP wing of Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Two federal marshals stood outside Cassandra’s room, their hands resting on their sidearms as Julian approached.
"He stays outside," Judge Arthur Vale’s booming voice echoed from inside the room.
The door opened, and Arthur Vale stepped out. He was a towering man in his late sixties, with slicked-back white hair, tailored steel-gray suit, and eyes that had sentenced hundreds of men to life in federal prison.
"You almost got my daughter killed, DeLuca," Vale snarled, stepping directly into Julian’s face. "I knew what you were. I tolerated you because Cassandra loved you, but you brought your filthy mob wars into a ballroom and poisoned my child!"
"The poison was meant for me, Judge," Julian replied coldly, not backing down an inch. "Cassandra was collateral damage. I have my best security team guarding this floor, and I am paying for the top specialists in the Midwest."
"Your money means nothing to me!" Vale snapped. "The FBI is issuing search warrants for your estate as we speak. By morning, every federal agent in Illinois will be tearing your life apart."
"If you do that," Julian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy murmur, "Carmine Moretti wins."
Judge Vale paused, his sharp eyes narrowing. "What does Moretti have to do with this?"
"Moretti bought my butler. Moretti poisoned the glass. He wants me dead so he can take over the Chicago port authority and flood this state with fentanyl and human trafficking," Julian explained, stepping closer so the marshals couldn't hear. "You’ve been trying to bring down the syndicate for twenty years, Arthur. You know as well as I do that if I fall, Moretti takes the city, and he doesn't play by rules. He doesn't build hospitals. He burns them."
Vale’s breath blew out in a white cloud of frustration. He knew Julian was telling the truth. Julian DeLuca was a criminal, but he ran a disciplined, legitimate-facing empire that kept violent street crime to a minimum. Moretti was a psychopath.
"What are you proposing?" Vale asked quietly.
"Give me forty-eight hours," Julian said. "Keep the FBI off my back for two days. I will hand you Carmine Moretti on a silver platter, along with every corrupt official on his payroll. In exchange, you clear my name of the ballroom incident, and you ensure full immunity for Nora Bennett."
Vale stared at Julian, searching the younger man’s face for any sign of a bluff. "Who is Nora Bennett?"
"She is my family," Julian said simply. "Do we have a deal?"
Before Vale could answer, the door to the room creaked open. Cassandra stood there, clutching an IV pole, her face pale as snow, wrapped in a hospital robe.
"Father," Cassandra said softly, her voice weak but steady. "Let him go."
"Cassandra, get back in bed—"
"No," she said, looking past her father straight at Julian. "Julian... I heard what you said in the ballroom before I passed out. I saw the way you looked at that child. She’s Claire’s daughter, isn't she?"
Julian stayed silent for a moment, then gave a single, solemn nod. "Yes."
Cassandra let out a bitter, sorrowful breath, a tear tracing a path down her pale cheek. "I always knew there was a ghost standing between us, Julian. Every time I held you, I felt her. But tonight... when that little girl danced, I saw something in her that I spent thirty years trying to buy with trophies and applause."
She took a shaky step forward. "The $1 million trust I promised... it stays. I’m having my lawyers finalize it tomorrow. Take care of your daughter, Julian. And go kill the men who tried to take her from you."
Julian looked at the woman he had almost married—a woman who, despite her arrogance, possessed a rare and fierce nobility.
"Thank you, Cassandra," Julian said softly.
He turned and walked down the hallway, Marcus following close behind.
May you like
"Where to now, boss?" Marcus asked.
"Call the crew," Julian ordered, his eyes burning with lethal intent. "We're going to war."
