Chapter 4 - The Fortress on the Lake
Within thirty minutes, the tiny, icy apartment on 18th Street was completely cleared out.
Victor’s private security detail, consisting of four massive, highly trained enforcers, loaded Tommy’s medical equipment, clothes, and personal belongings into a second black SUV.
Tommy was wrapped in a thick fur blanket provided by Victor himself, sitting wide-eyed and stunned in the heated back seat of the Escalade, while a private paramedic checked his vital signs.
Chloe stood on the snowy sidewalk, watching her old life disappear into the back of a truck. Her head was still spinning from the fever, her body shivering as the winter wind whipped down the narrow street.
Victor stood beside her, his long cashmere coat shielding her from the bitter wind. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a soft wool scarf, and wrapped it gently around her neck, tucking her dark waves beneath the fabric.
“Where... where are you taking us, Mr. Russo?” Chloe asked softly, looking up into his hardened, handsome face.
“To my home,” Victor replied simply, his eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops for any lurking Saleri snipers. “You and your brother are no longer safe in Pilsen. Jimmy Vane works for Don Saleri. The moment they realized you were close to me, your apartment became a target.”
“I’m not close to you,” Chloe whispered, her cheeks burning with something hotter than her fever. “I’m just... a maid who fell asleep in your bed.”
Victor paused, his grey eyes softening as he looked down at her small, trembling frame.
“You are under my roof now, Chloe,” he said, his voice dropping into a rich, firm cadence that left no room for debate. “That makes you mine to protect.”
Twenty minutes later, the armored convoy pulled through the massive iron gates of the Russo estate in the Gold Coast.
The estate was a sprawling, stone fortress built in the 1920s, surrounded by twenty-foot security walls, high-definition cameras, and armed men patrolling the snow-covered grounds with German Shepherds.
The cars came to a stop in the grand brick courtyard.
When the heavy oak doors of the mansion swung open, Marco Rossi was standing in the foyer, flanked by three senior capos of the Russo family. His face was thunderous as he watched Victor walk through the entrance, carrying Tommy’s heavy medical transport case in one hand while guiding Chloe into the heated house with his other.
“Victor!” Marco barked, stepping forward, his voice echoing off the marble floors. “What is the meaning of this? You brought the girl’s brother here? This isn't a charity hospital! Don Saleri has already called an emergency meeting of the Commission! He’s claiming you violated territorial treaties by beating his men in Pilsen!”
The three capos behind Marco muttered in agreement, their faces filled with deep concern and rising anger.
Victor didn't stop walking. He handed Tommy’s medical case to a waiting house butler and turned to face his second-in-command.
“Saleri’s men entered my employee's home and threatened her family,” Victor said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly low, lethal tone. “In doing so, they crossed my line. If Saleri wants a war over three low-level loan sharks, I will gladly burn his docks to the ground by sunrise.”
“She’s a maid, Victor!” Marco shouted, pointing an angry finger at Chloe, who shrank back into the warmth of Victor’s side. “You’re risking a ten-year peace agreement over a servant from the West Side! The family elders are furious! They think she’s put a spell on you!”
Victor stepped closer to Marco, his massive frame looming over his lieutenant. The air in the foyer became suffocatingly tense.
“Listen to me very carefully, Marco,” Victor whispered, his eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying fire. “Chloe Bennett and her brother are now guests of this house. They will occupy the guest suite on the second floor. They will have full access to our medical staff, our kitchen, and our protection.”
Victor paused, his eyes sweeping over the three senior capos behind Marco.
“If anyone in this house questions her presence again,” Victor continued, “I will consider it an act of treason against my leadership. Am I making myself entirely clear?”
The three capos immediately bowed their heads. “Yes, Don Russo.”
Marco stared at Victor for a long, agonizing moment, his jaw working in rage, before he slowly lowered his hand. “You’re making a mistake, Victor. Just like five years ago with Elena.”
At the mention of Elena’s name, Victor’s posture hardened like concrete. His hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles turning white.
“Get out of my sight, Marco,” Victor growled quietly.
Marco glared at Chloe with pure, unadulterated venom before turning on his heel and storming out of the grand entrance hall.
Victor took a deep, shuddering breath, masterfully forcing his composure back into place. He turned back to Chloe, taking her small, shivering hand into his warm palm.
“Come,” Victor said gently. “Let’s get your brother settled into his room.”
He led her up the grand staircase, leaving the whispering shadows of the mafia underworld behind them. But as Chloe walked beside him, holding his hand, she couldn't shake the chilling weight of the name Marco had spoken.
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Elena.
Who was she? And why did the mere mention of her name make the most terrifying man in Chicago look as if he were carrying the weight of a ghost on his shoulders?
