Marco blinked. “The FBI? Boss, we don’t work with the feds.”
“Tonight we do,” Dante snarled. “Silas wants a hostage exchange and a stolen ledger. We are going to give him a coordinated federal raid, recorded confessions, and enough evidence to bury his entire organization in daylight. No one touches my wife. No one.”
At midnight, the abandoned steel plant loomed against the Chicago sky like the rotting skeleton of a dead giant. The wind howled through the rusted rafters, carrying the bitter scent of snow and old oil. Inside, Silas Thorne paced around Toby, who was still tied to the chair, looking small and terrified.
When the heavy metal doors groaned open, Silas smiled, expecting a weeping, desperate waitress. Instead, Dante Rossi stepped into the dim light, his hands empty, his expression carved from ice.
“Where is she?” Silas barked, his hand drifting toward his holster.
“Safe,” Dante replied, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls.
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“You made a deal with my wife under threat,” Dante said, taking a slow step forward. “That isn’t a deal. That’s a federal crime.”
Silas’s smile vanished. He grabbed Toby by the collar, pressing the barrel of his gun to the boy’s temple. “Back off, Rossi. I’ll do it.”