Chapter 3
The war between the Costa Syndicate and the Iron Hand was brutal, bloody, and shockingly brief.
Armed with Bianca's intelligence, Dante's men struck with surgical precision.
They hit the Gary pawn shop, securing the subterranean vault and seizing millions in unlaundered cash.
Simultaneously, Enzo led a tactical strike force into the Highland Park Rail Yard in Detroit, intercepting Vogle's armored transit and capturing the financial ledgers that detailed every corrupt politician and dirty cop on Vogle's payroll.
Overnight, Brett Vogle went from a kingpin to a hunted animal. His allies abandoned him. His mercenaries fled.
Desperation breeds fatal mistakes.
Knowing his empire was collapsing and his life was forfeit, Vogle decided on one final suicidal move.
He did not run. He gathered his three most loyal, heavily armed enforcers and drove straight to Chicago.
If he was going down, he was going to cut the heart out of Dante Costa before he died.
It was 2:00 AM on a Thursday.
Dante was away from the estate, personally overseeing the disposal of Vogle's lieutenants in the industrial district.
The Costa mansion was heavily guarded, but Vogle had blueprints from an old contractor.
They breached the estate through the archaic, forgotten Prohibition-era smuggling tunnels beneath the wine cellar. Bianca was awake.
She was restless, sitting in the dark nursery watching Leo sleep.
The sudden, muffled sound of suppressed gunfire from the floors below made her blood turn to ice.
The alarms did not sound immediately. The intruders had cut the main power lines. The mansion plunged into total darkness.
Bianca did not panic. She had grown up in neighborhoods where gunshots were lullabies.
She quickly gathered the sleeping Leo into her arms.
The boy woke up, his eyes wide with terror, but he did not scream.
Bianca pressed her finger to her lips, and he nodded, clinging to her neck.
She moved silently through the dark halls, heading for the master suite. Dante had showed her the panic room.
Hidden behind the mahogany bookshelves, she punched in the code, the heavy steel door sliding open.
She set Leo inside, wrapping a heavy blanket around him. "Stay here, my brave boy," she whispered.
"Do not make a sound until I come back." She stepped back out and let the steel door seal shut.
She could have stayed inside, but she knew if they blew the door with C4, they would both die.
She needed to buy time. She needed to defend the doorway.
Bianca moved to the fireplace and picked up a solid iron fire poker.
It was heavy—nearly 20 pounds of wrought iron.
She gripped it with both hands, stepping into the shadows by the bedroom door, regulating her breathing.
Her thick thighs gave her a solid, immovable center of gravity. She waited.
Heavy boots crunched on the hardwood floor of the hallway. A flashlight beam swept into the bedroom. "Check the closets!"
A harsh, German-accented voice hissed. "Vogle, the fat one has to be here somewhere.
If you find her, shoot her in the stomach. Let her bleed." A man stepped into the bedroom.
His rifle raised, the flashlight mounted on the barrel cutting through the dark.
He walked past the shadows by the door. Bianca did not hesitate.
Drawing on every ounce of her heavy, solid strength, she swung the iron poker like a baseball bat.
The heavy metal connected with the back of the mercenary's knees with a bone-shattering crunch.
The man screamed, collapsing to the floor.
Before he could raise his rifle, Bianca brought the heavy iron down squarely on his wrist, shattering it and kicking the weapon under the bed.
"What the hell is going on in there?" Vogle shouted from the hallway, rushing toward the bedroom door.
Suddenly, the front gates of the estate erupted in blinding light.
Sirens blared, and the roaring engines of a dozen armored SUVs tore up the driveway. Dante had returned.
Vogle realized he was out of time. He lunged into the bedroom, raising his pistol, but Bianca was already moving.
She threw the heavy iron directly at his chest.
It hit him hard, knocking the wind out of him and throwing his aim off.
The bullet shattered the mirror above the dresser.
Before Vogle could recover, the bedroom door was kicked entirely off its hinges.
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Dante stood in the doorway, an absolute vision of death. His suit was covered in blood.
His eyes black with rage.
