Chapter 1 - Five Minutes to Midnight
At 8:50 p.m., Evelyn Carter realized that the woman sitting beside Chicago’s most feared crime lord had just ordered his execution.
She had exactly five minutes to decide whether to warn him.
If she said nothing, Lorenzo Moretti would be killed.
If she warned him and they caught her, she might die right beside him.
Evelyn was merely a waitress.
No money.
No power.
No protection.
Yet she was the only person in the entire restaurant who knew what was about to happen.
And five minutes from now, Chicago's premier engagement dinner was going to turn into a massacre.
The Obsidian loomed over the Chicago River like a monument built for people convinced that cash could buy anything.
Black marble. Glass walls. Ice-like chandeliers.
Politicians gathered there to cut secret deals.
Judges went there to take bribes.
And powerful men met there to order violence that would never make the morning papers.
Evelyn had worked at the establishment for nine months.
Fourteen-hour shifts.
Forced smiles.
Throbbing feet.
And one golden rule:
Never stand out.
She lived alone in a cramped studio apartment in Cicero. Her radiator clanked loudly every winter, and her front door only stayed locked if she lifted it up while turning the key.
Her mother had passed away when she was twelve.
Her father had gambled until he vanished beneath an avalanche of debts and rumors.
Some people claimed he skipped town.
Others said he ended up at the bottom of the river.
Whispers floated that men like Lorenzo Moretti had made sure he would never sit at a poker table again.
Evelyn never found out which version was true.
Tonight, however, she desperately needed the cash.
Rent was due in four days.
Her electric bill was already two weeks overdue.
And the tips from this high-profile engagement party could buy her another month of survival.
Then Gilbert, the floor manager, grabbed her by the arm.
“Table Four is yours.”
He lowered his voice.
“And whatever you do… don't stare.”
Evelyn glanced toward Table Four.
And instantly understood why.
It wasn't just another section.
It was the focal point of the entire room.
Lorenzo Moretti sat at the head of the table.
One hand rested next to his wineglass.
The other lay casually across the crisp white tablecloth.
He looked younger than Evelyn had anticipated—perhaps in his early thirties.
Though the rumors had gotten one detail spot-on.
He possessed the kind of dangerous stillness that put everyone on edge.
Dark hair.
A tailored dark suit.
Cold dark eyes.
A face handsome enough to inspire trust—
and frigid enough to make it impossible.
Seated next to him was his fiancée, Celeste Vane.
Old Chicago money.
Honey-blonde hair.
An emerald satin gown.
Diamonds draped around her neck.
She was stunning.
Almost suspiciously stunning.
Tonight was supposed to be their official engagement celebration.
Two dynasties.
One powerful alliance.
And a marriage destined to make Lorenzo Moretti an even bigger force to be reckoned with.
At least, that was the illusion everyone bought into.
Until Evelyn noticed something amiss.
She approached the table balancing a tray of crystal glasses.
Celeste chuckled at something one of Lorenzo's lieutenants said.
The laugh sounded flawless.
Yet when Evelyn set a glass of water down in front of her, she caught Celeste’s reflection in the polished silver pitcher.
Her smile was perfect.
Her eyes were not.
They kept darting around.
First toward the mirrored wall.
Then toward the back hallway.
Then toward the heavy service doors leading to the kitchen and loading bay.
Evelyn recognized that look.
She had grown up surrounded by compulsive gamblers.
Her father had wrecked his life one lie at a time.
She knew precisely how people looked when they were pretending everything was fine.
Celeste wasn't at ease.
She was waiting for something.
Evelyn stepped behind Lorenzo and began pouring his wine.
That was when Celeste dropped her beaded clutch onto the table.
Carelessly.
Almost deliberately.
The flap popped open just a fraction.
Evelyn looked down.
And froze.
A text message was lit up brightly on Celeste's phone screen.
North exit secured. Cleaners in position. 8:55.
Evelyn's heart skipped a beat.
She glanced up at the wall clock.
8:50.
Five minutes.
Only five minutes left.
She nearly dropped the wine bottle.
A small splash of red wine spilled onto the pristine white tablecloth.
An abrupt hush fell over the table.
One of Lorenzo's bodyguards slowly looked up.
Gilbert turned pale from behind the service station.
Celeste shifted her gaze to Evelyn.
First annoyed.
Then amused.
And finally—
with something much colder.
Lorenzo lifted his eyes away from the stain.
And locked them directly onto Evelyn.
For one terrifying second, she thought:
Just keep walking.
Act like you saw nothing.
Let these wealthy monsters destroy each other.
Then Celeste tapped her thumb twice against the edge of her purse.
Evelyn's stomach plummeted.
It wasn't a nervous habit.
It was a countdown signal.
Someone was waiting out there.
Someone was ready to strike.
And Lorenzo had no clue what was coming.
8:51 p.m.
Evelyn backed away from the table.
Her chest pounded so hard she could barely catch her breath.
If she said nothing—
Lorenzo would die.
If she warned him—
she might die right along with him.
And if she just ran away?
She would spend the rest of her days wondering how many lives were lost simply because she was too terrified to do the right thing.
Her fingers curled around a cocktail napkin.
She snatched a pen.
And frantically scribbled:
Your fiancée set a trap. Leave now. North exit.
She stared down at what she wrote.
Then a chilling realization hit her.
The north exit was already compromised.
“No…”
She crossed out the words so hard the pen tore right through the paper.
Then she wrote a new warning:
Your fiancée set a trap. Don't use north exit.
Her hand was trembling uncontrollably.
She folded the napkin once.
Then twice.
And took a step toward the most dangerous man in Chicago.
“Evie.”
Gilbert's voice hissed sharply behind her.
“What on earth are you doing?”
Evelyn didn't bother to answer.
Because at that exact second—
May you like
the clock flipped to 8:52.
And Lorenzo Moretti was about to get a message that would decide whether he lived to see another day."
