The night air off Lake Michigan possessed a sharp, razor-thin edge that cut straight through the thin fabric of Maggie Bennett’s catering uniform.

While Evelyn Price was behind bars awaiting federal indictment alongside Dr. Richard Vane, the fallout of her betrayal sent shockwaves through Chicago’s underworld.

Liam O’Malley, sensing weakness in the Moretti empire following the public scandal, decided to strike.

Three weeks after Evelyn’s arrest, a fire broke out at one of Dominic’s primary shipping warehouses on the Chicago River. It was a clear message: the O’Malley family was ready for war.

Maggie sat at the kitchen island of the estate, watching the news coverage on a small television while nursing a mug of coffee.

“...authorities are investigating the blaze as arson,” the reporter stated. “Sources indicate rising tensions between local freight syndicates...”

Dominic stepped into the kitchen, wearing a dark suit coat over an open-collared black shirt. He looked tired; dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes from late-night meetings with his lieutenants.

He walked behind Maggie, resting a large, warm hand on her shoulder. “You shouldn't watch the news. It’s sensationalized garbage.”

Maggie turned her head, looking up at him. “It’s not garbage, Dominic. O’Malley burned your warehouse. Are you in danger?”

Dominic took the coffee mug from her hand, took a slow sip, and handed it back. “O’Malley is a rat trying to bite an elephant’s ankle. He thinks because I turned over medical evidence to the feds, I’ve gone soft.”

“Have you?” Maggie asked gently, her eyes searching his face.

Dominic leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. “I’m a businessman, Maggie. I do what is necessary to keep my family safe. And right now, my family is in this house.”

The word—family—hung in the warm kitchen air, heavy and full of unsaid promises.

Over the past month, the boundaries between physical therapist and employer had completely disintegrated. They ate dinner together every night. Dominic sat on the floor during Leo’s therapy sessions, laughing as Maggie forced the crime boss to do core-plank challenges against his son. For the first time in three years, the dark Tudor mansion was filled with music, laughter, and the smell of real food cooked by Maggie herself.

“I don't want you going into the city today,” Dominic said, his tone shifting into protective authority. “Frank is doubling the gate security. O’Malley is desperate.”

“I have an appointment at the state licensing board downtown at two o’clock,” Maggie reminded him, placing her hand over his on her shoulder. “You paid for my reinstatement exam fees, remember? I’m getting my physical therapy license back today.”

Dominic frowned, his jaw tightening. “I’ll send Frank and four men with you.”

“Four bodyguards to a medical board review?” Maggie laughed softly. “I’ll look like I’m applying for a cartel license!”

“Two men,” Dominic compromised, bending down to press a soft, lingering kiss against the side of her neck.

Maggie’s heart executed a spectacular somersault. The heat of his lips against her skin made her toes curl in her sneakers.

“Two men,” Maggie agreed, her voice barely a whisper.

Two hours later, Maggie was sitting in the back of a armored black SUV, flanked by two of Dominic’s senior security guards, heading down the I-90 toward downtown Chicago.

The rain was falling in heavy sheets, blurring the city skyline into grey brushstrokes.

As the SUV approached the off-ramp near the Loop, a heavy dump truck suddenly ran a red light from an intersection ahead, swinging broadside across the three-lane road.

“Brace!” the driver yelled.

The SUV slammed on its brakes, tires screaming against wet asphalt, spinning forty-five degrees before skidding to a halt against a concrete barrier.

Before the guards could pull their weapons, two dark vans pulled up, blocking the front and rear of the vehicle. Six men wearing ski masks and carrying automatic rifles poured out, surrounding the SUV.

The back door was yanked open.