The note burned in Leo Valentino’s pocket the entire next day.
The crate wasn’t stolen. Someone inside took it.
Be careful who you trust.
Leo had read the words so many times he could practically see them carved into his mind.
Inside job.
Which meant only one thing.
Someone in the Cohen Family had deliberately sabotaged him.
The problem was—Leo trusted very few people in the gang to begin with.
And now that list was even shorter.
He leaned against the brick wall outside a smoky bar in South Chicago, watching the street through half-lidded eyes. The neon sign above the door flickered weakly, casting red light across the wet pavement.
Inside, the bar roared with laughter, gambling, and illegal whiskey.
One of the Cohen Family’s main hangouts.
If anyone knew something about the missing crate, it would be here.
Leo pushed the door open.
The smell hit him first—cheap tobacco, sweat, spilled bourbon.
A piano clanged somewhere in the corner while men shouted over poker tables.
Bootleggers. Enforcers. Smugglers.
All loyal to Marcus Cohen.
Or pretending to be.
Leo moved through the room like a shadow.
Conversations dipped slightly as he passed. Not out of fear—but respect.
Everyone knew Leo Valentino.
The quiet enforcer.
The man who never talked much but never lost a fight either.
Behind the bar, an older man wiped a glass.
“Leo,” he greeted.
“Frank.”
“You look like hell.”
“Long night.”
Frank snorted.
“Every night’s long in this business.”
Leo leaned closer.
“Who handled the truck loading yesterday?”
Frank thought for a moment.
“Warehouse crew… same as usual. Why?”
Leo said nothing.
Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Shipment trouble?”
Leo didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Frank sighed.
“Careful who you accuse, kid.”
Leo straightened.
“I’m not accusing anyone.”
“Not yet.”
Leo turned away.
But before he could take another step—
A familiar voice called out behind him.
“Well, well.”
Leo closed his eyes briefly.
Of course.
Tony Capo strolled toward him, two drinks in hand and a lazy grin on his face.
Tony looked like he belonged in the bar—slick hair, expensive suit, confidence dripping off him like cologne.
He handed Leo a glass.
“Thought you could use this.”
Leo didn’t take it.
Tony shrugged and drank both.
“So,” Tony said casually, leaning against the counter. “You find that missing crate yet?”
Leo studied him quietly.
Tony raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Where were you during the ambush?”
Tony laughed.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Tony tilted his head, amused.
“Right beside you. Shooting at the bastards trying to steal our liquor.”
Leo held his gaze.
Tony’s smile didn’t falter.
But something flickered in his eyes.
“You think I had something to do with it?” Tony asked lightly.
Leo didn’t answer.
Tony chuckled.
“That hurts, Leo.”
He clapped a hand on Leo’s shoulder.
“We grew up together, remember?”
Leo removed the hand slowly.
“I remember.”
Tony’s smile thinned slightly.
“Well,” he said, stepping back. “Good luck finding your crate.”
Then he added quietly—
“You’ve only got two days left.”
Tony walked away whistling.
Leo watched him disappear into the crowd.
The note in his pocket suddenly felt heavier.
Be careful who you trust.
—
Night fell quickly over Chicago.
By the time the streetlights flickered on, Leo was already walking through a narrow alley on the north side of the city.
The place smelled like rain and rust.
Perfect for a secret meeting.
He stopped near the end of the alley, leaning against the wall.
Minutes passed.
Then soft footsteps echoed against the pavement.
Leo straightened.
A figure appeared from the shadows.
Isabella Rossi pulled back the hood of her coat.
Even in the dim light, she looked unreal.
Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like silk, and her pale skin seemed almost luminous against the darkness of the alley.
Leo felt the same strange pull he’d felt in the mansion.
Dangerous.
Irresistible.
“You came,” she said softly.
Leo crossed his arms.
“You said the crate wasn’t stolen.”
Her expression turned serious.
“It wasn’t.”
Leo waited.
She stepped closer.
“Tony Capo took it.”
Leo’s jaw tightened.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s the truth.”
“How do you know?”
Isabella glanced toward the mouth of the alley, making sure they were alone.
Then she spoke quietly.
“Marcus doesn’t trust anyone.”
Leo snorted.
“I noticed.”
“He has people watching every member of the gang,” she continued.
Leo frowned.
“Spies?”
“In a way.”
“And you know this because…?”
Isabella met his eyes.
“Because he tells me things.”
Leo studied her carefully.
“Why warn me?”
She hesitated.
For the first time, the confident composure slipped slightly.
“Because I don’t think you deserve to die for something you didn’t do.”
Leo’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
“Tony has been working both sides,” she continued. “He hides information from Marcus… and feeds him information when it benefits him.”
Leo thought back to the bar.
Tony’s smirk.
His questions.
His constant presence.
“You have proof?” Leo asked.
Isabella nodded slowly.
“My maid, Lucy, helped me collect it.”
Leo raised an eyebrow.
“Your maid?”
“She’s loyal to me.”
Leo considered that.