Page 67

Gennady

The war room was dim, the yellow glow of a single lamp spilling over the massive Chicago map on the table. My finger jabbed at three red-circled spots: East End docks, South Side warehouse cluster, and the abandoned downtown factory. These were the Marco strongholds Ginnie had fed us yesterday.

Dimitri and the inner circle stood around me, waiting for my call. The air was thick, taut as a bowstring. Everyone knew tonight's move would tip the scales in our war with Marco.

"We hit them as planned," I said, my voice low and hard, cutting through the silence. "Three targets, all at once. Dimitri, you take the East End docks. Alex, the South Side warehouses. I'm leading the downtown factory myself. No survivors."

Dimitri nodded, but I caught the flicker of worry in his eyes. "Boss, about the source of this intel…"

"I know," I snapped, shutting him down. I didn't want to talk about Ginnie in front of the crew. "We've got no choice. Marco goes down, whatever it takes."

The raids went off smoother than I'd dared hope. Back in my office, I fielded one victory call after another.

"Boss, East End docks are done," Dimitri said, voice buzzing with adrenaline. "We found a shit-ton of guns, drugs, and Marco's financial records."

"South Side warehouses are ours," Alex reported next. "Grabbed two of Marco's top guys—still breathing. Interrogation's underway."

Then there was my hit on the downtown factory. Once a crumbling textile mill, its basement had been turned into Marco's secret vault. When we cracked those safes, the stacks of cash and gold bars damn near blinded me.

Ginnie's intel was spot-on, scarily so. This was a win—a clean, brutal sweep that exceeded every expectation.

I set the phone down, its cold metal biting into my palm. Victory should've tasted like fire, like whiskey burning down my throat. Instead, it was ash, cold and bitter. Ginnie's value was undeniable—she held Marco's jugular in her hands. If I kept her close, I could end this bastard in a week, rip out the cancer that had haunted me since my father's days.

But at what cost?

Ginnie's endgame was clear as day: a seat at my side, the queen of the Sokolov Family. She'd made no secret of it, her greedy, vain eyes always locked on that prize.

And then there was Cassie. Her pale, gaunt face flashed in my mind, her eyes filled with pain and distance, her body wasting away. She barely touched food anymore, wilting like a flower torn from its roots. Every time I saw her, my heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice, the pain spreading to every nerve. My victories, my revenge—they were nothing next to her silent decay.

I shoved out of the chair, storming out of the war room. The high of the win didn't last a second, swallowed by a desperate need to see her. Now.

At her door, I knocked softly. "Cassie?"

No answer.

I tried again, my voice gentler. "Cassie, can I come in?"

Silence.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the churn in my chest, and turned the knob. The room was dark, lit only by the faint neon glow of the city outside, casting blurry patches on the floor.

Cassie sat by the window, a book in her hands, but I knew she wasn't reading. She looked up at my footsteps, her eyes flashing with wariness, like I was a stranger. That look cut deeper than any blade.

"You're wasting away," I said, stopping a few steps away, afraid to get too close. Every time I tried, she flinched, like I was poison.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

My heart twisted. God, she was a shadow of herself. Her cheeks were sunken, her body so thin it looked like a gust could knock her over. Dark circles ringed her eyes, her lips pale as death. She was fading right in front of me.

This was the woman who used to light up my world with her smile, who played her violin with love in her eyes. Was this still my Cassie?

"Cassie, please eat something," I said, my voice cracking with a plea I couldn't hide. "You're gonna make yourself sick. The doctor said—"

"I don't need a doctor," she cut me off, her tone calm but razor-sharp. "And I don't need your concern."

She turned back to the window, her coldness worse than any scream. Anger would've meant she still cared. This? This was her giving up—on us, on everything.

I stood frozen in the middle of the room, moonlight outlining her fragile frame. I wanted to rush to her, pull her into my arms, crush her against me until she was part of me again. I wanted to scream a thousand times, I'd give up everything for you!