Five Minutes to Midnight

By 2:00 a.m., the burning wreckage of The Obsidian had been cordoned off by local police on the payroll, and the media was already spinning a convenient narrative about a tragic “random gas explosion” along the Chicago River.

Evelyn didn't go back to Cicero.

Instead, she sat in the leather passenger seat of a bulletproof black Escalade as it cut through the damp, foggy Chicago night, heading west toward the industrial sprawl.

Lorenzo sat beside her in silence, reviewing encrypted files on a secured military tablet.

“Where are we going?” Evelyn finally asked, breaking the heavy quiet.

“A safehouse near Oak Brook,” Lorenzo replied without looking up from his screen. “You can't go back to your apartment. Within six hours, Marcus Vane’s cleaners will tear that place apart looking for anything tied to you.”

“And my job? My clothes?”

“Replaced by morning,” Lorenzo said simply. He tapped the screen, locking the tablet and sliding it into his coat pocket. He turned his head to look at her in the dim dashboard light. “You saved my life tonight, Evelyn. In my world, debts are paid in full. You’ll have a secure salary, private security detail, and a place to live that doesn't have a clanking radiator.”

Evelyn looked out the rain-streaked window at the blurring neon signs of the highway. Her entire life had turned upside down in less than six hours. She had gone from a struggling, exhausted waitress terrified of eviction to a pawn—or perhaps a player—in a brutal Chicago mafia war.

“And what happens when you catch Marcus Vane?” she asked softly.

Lorenzo’s expression didn't change. It remained as cold and still as the black marble of The Obsidian.