The Mafia Boss Watched His Dead Fiancée Walk Into Her Own Funeral... Until the Woman With Her Face Revealed Who Had Really Put Her in the Casket

The utility tunnel smelled of rust, river mud, and wet stone. We ran in single file, guided only by the dim beam of the tactical flashlight mounted on Gabriel’s submachine gun, splashing through six inches of freezing runoff water that soaked through our boots.

After ten agonizing minutes of sprinting through the claustrophobic concrete pipe, the tunnel opened up into a wide, open-air concrete culvert that discharged directly into the dark, churning waters of the Calumet River.

Above us, the first pale streaks of dawn were beginning to bleed across the Chicago skyline, turning the heavy clouds a bruised shade of violet and charcoal.

Waiting by the water’s edge was an armored Zodiac inflatable boat idling quietly against the concrete embankment. Franco Rinaldi stood beside it, a submachine gun slung over his shoulder, his silver hair ruffled by the icy river wind.

"Boss!" Franco called out, rushing forward to help us up the embankment. "Everyone else is clear. The perimeter guards are falling back to the secondary safehouse."

Gabriel hauled himself up onto the concrete slab, pulling me up right behind him. Natalie scrambled out of the culvert last, gasping for breath, her clothes caked in mud and soot.

We stood on the riverbank, breathing heavily, watching the distant silhouette of the cold-storage warehouse where a thick plume of black smoke was now billowing into the morning sky. Moretti’s men wouldn't find anyone inside. The building—and all the digital ghosts inside it—was burning to the ground.

Gabriel turned around to face us. The wind whipped his black coat around his legs, but he didn't shiver. He looked like a man who had stared into the abyss of his own destruction and come out the other side entirely unbreakable.

"You caused a war, Natalie," Gabriel said quietly, his dark eyes fixed on my twin sister.

Natalie stood a few feet away, trembling in the cold dawn light. She didn't look away. "I survived one."

"Survival doesn't give you the right to destroy everyone who cared about you," Gabriel replied, his voice chillingly absolute. "You faked your death. As far as the city of Chicago—and the Outfit—is concerned, Natalie Donatelli is dead and buried beneath six feet of dirt at St. Augustine Cathedral."

Natalie’s breath hitched. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying you don't exist anymore," Gabriel stated flatly. "You take a new name, a new passport, and you catch a flight out of the country today. If you ever step foot in Chicago again—if you ever come near Lauren or me—I won't let Moretti kill you. I'll finish the job myself."

Natalie looked at me, her hazel eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Lauren... please. Are you just going to let him banish me?"

I looked at my twin sister—the face I had loved, the face I had mourned, the face that had lied to me, used me, and nearly gotten me killed in a dark warehouse.

"You died three days ago, Natalie," I said, my voice steady and cold as the river water at our feet. "Let the dead stay in the grave."

Without another word, Natalie turned around, climbed into the Zodiac boat beside Franco, and stared out into the dark currents of the river as the motor roared to life, carrying her away from Chicago forever.

I stood on the riverbank, the cold wind biting at my skin, watching the boat disappear into the gray mist of Lake Michigan.

A warm hand slid into mine.

I turned my head. Gabriel stood beside me, his dark eyes softening as he looked down at me, the harsh, unforgiving syndicate boss melting away to reveal the man beneath.

"What happens now?" I asked softly.