577 "My mother worked seventy-seven days without being paid while her boss flaunted a new Porsche and begged her to wait “one more week.” So I slipped away at lunch, walked past seven armed men, and asked the most dangerous man in Chicago why nobody had made David Sterling pay her.

While the Lakeside Hearth flourished under its new management, the darker corners of Chicago’s financial underground were still reeling from the fallout of David Sterling’s downfall.

Sterling’s arrest had triggered a federal domino effect. The shell companies he used to hide embezzled funds from his investors had been tied directly to a larger syndicate operating out of the West Side—a crew run by a ruthless, ambitious lieutenant named Viktor Vance.

Viktor wasn't happy that Vincent Kane had stepped into his territory and dismantled one of his primary laundering fronts.

Late one Friday evening, two weeks after Vincent’s visit to the restaurant, Marcus stood outside Vincent’s private study in his River North mansion, knocking once before entering.

"Boss," Marcus said, his face grim. "We have a problem."

Vincent was sitting at his mahogany desk, reading a bound ledger by the light of a green-shaded banker’s lamp. He didn't look up. "Define problem."

"Viktor Vance’s men have been sniffing around the Lakeside Hearth. They think Sterling was holding something back in the restaurant's basement safe before the receivership took over—some digital hard drives with transaction logs connecting Vance to the city council bribes."

Vincent’s hands stopped turning the pages of the ledger.

The silence in the study grew heavy, suffocating.

"They know Sarah Carter works there?" Vincent asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy whisper.

"They know she’s the manager now. And worse... they know about the kid." Marcus clenched his jaw. "Vance isn't like Sterling. He doesn't scare easily, and he doesn't care about collateral damage."

Vincent stood up slowly. The shadows in the room seemed to bend around him. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the rain-slicked streets of Chicago reflecting the neon glow of the skyline.

"Viktor thinks he can play in my city," Vincent said quietly.

"What are your orders?"

"Double the security detail around Sarah and Rory’s apartment. Not subtle security—visible, heavy, undeniable security," Vincent commanded. "And as for Viktor..."