Two weeks had passed since the tense meeting at the docks, a fragile calm settling over Daniel Isiah’s empire. The Italians had recommitted to the smuggling deal, the pharmaceutical shipment secured without further interference from Rocco Varga, whose safehouse raid had yielded nothing but empty rooms and dead-end leads. Sayrn Sauns, at twenty-eight with her RN degree earned earlier this year, had settled into a rhythm in Daniel’s penthouse—patching up his men, balancing ER shifts at Chicago General, and deepening their bond under the Velvet Contract. Their official relationship, sealed with a key and moments of intense intimacy, felt like an anchor amidst the uncertainty of Varga’s lingering threat.
Tonight, they were far from the city’s shadows, driving through the South Side’s familiar
