The winter sky hung low and gray over Chicago, heavy with the promise of more snow. George stood at the window of his apartment, watching the clouds gather on the horizon. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the room. He'd been standing there for nearly an hour, lost in thought, the letter from Richard Vance still fresh in his mind.
His father had killed his own brother-in-law. Michael Whitfield had been a threat, a witness who knew too much. And Julian had eliminated him the same way he'd eliminated everyone else who stood in his way.
Sam found him there, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder.
"You've been standing here for an hour," she said softly. "What
