My name is Sophie Clark, and until ten-thirty on a frigid November night, I was a ghost in a room full of gods.

The world stopped spinning.

"No..." I gasped, the air completely rushing out of my lungs. "No, no, no! Leo! He's at school—he was going to the library—"

"Petrov's men intercepted his car in Lincoln Park twenty minutes ago," Lorenzo said, his voice deceptively calm as he pulled a black tactical jacket over his holster. "They took out my security team. He's holding him at the abandoned meatpacking plant in the Union Stock Yards."

"Oh God!" Tears flooded my eyes as absolute terror gripped my soul. "He's just a boy! He has severe asthma! If he panics, he won't be able to breathe—"

Lorenzo grabbed my shoulders, pulling me firmly against his chest. "Listen to me, Sophie. Look at me!"

I looked up into his fierce, dark eyes, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I swear on my mother's life," Lorenzo said, his voice cutting through my panic like an iron beam, "I will bring your brother back to you alive and unharmed. Do you hear me?"

"Take me with you!" I pleaded, clutching his jacket. "Please, Lorenzo! He'll be terrified! He needs his inhaler—I have it in my bag!"

Lorenzo stared at me for two agonizing seconds. Leaving me behind meant leaving me vulnerable to a secondary strike, but bringing me to an active warzone was insanely dangerous.

"Dante!" Lorenzo roared toward the hallway.

Dante appeared in the doorway instantly, holding a submachine gun. "Boss?"

"Load the armored Suburbans. Call the front line. We move on the Stock Yards in three minutes," Lorenzo ordered sharply. He looked back at me. "You stay in the middle vehicle. You do not step out until I tell you the area is clear. If anything goes wrong, Dante's men will pull you out of the city instantly. Understood?"

"Yes," I wept, grabbing my purse containing Leo's medical supplies. "Just save him."

Ten minutes later, a convoy of four heavily armored black SUVs tore through the rainy Chicago night, running red lights, cutting across lanes, flying toward the south side of the city. I sat in the middle vehicle, sandwiched between two heavily armed men, clutching Leo's inhaler to my chest so hard my knuckles turned white.

The Union Stock Yards were a dark, desolate wasteland of decaying brick warehouses, rusting iron beams, and overgrown weeds.

The convoy killed its headlights two blocks away, rolling silently into the shadows of a crumbling industrial complex. Rain hammered relentlessly against the reinforced roof of the SUV.

Lorenzo turned around from the front passenger seat, looking back at me. "Stay here."

"Lorenzo..." I choked out.

"He's going to be okay, little bird," Lorenzo said softly. He reached out, his hand briefly touching my cheek. "Trust me."

He stepped out into the rain, drawing his weapon. Eighteen heavily armed men in dark tactical gear melted into the shadows behind him, moving toward the main entrance of the meatpacking plant like silent phantoms.

Inside the SUV, the silence was agonizing. Two minutes felt like two hours. I stared out the blacked-out window, watching the rain wash down the glass, praying with every fiber of my being.

BANG.

A gunshot echoed through the storm, muffled by the heavy rain, followed instantly by a rapid barrage of automatic gunfire coming from inside the warehouse.

"Lorenzo!" I screamed, pressing my hands against the window.

Muzzle flashes illuminated the broken windows of the second floor. Yells, shattering glass, and heavy explosions echoed across the desolate yard. My heart was slamming against my ribs so violently I thought it would burst.

Suddenly, the heavy iron side door of the warehouse blew outward with a metallic crunch.

A figure stumbled out into the rain.

Through the dark torrents of water, I recognized the slim, familiar frame.

"LEO!" I screamed.

He was running, stumbling through the mud, clutching his chest, gasping frantically for air. Behind him, a tall, heavy-set man in a leather coat stepped out of the shadow of the doorway, raising a handgun toward Leo's back.

Viktor Petrov.

Before Petrov could pull the trigger, Lorenzo emerged from the darkness like a demon rising from hell. He tackled Petrov to the muddy ground, sending the handgun skidding across the concrete.