The tires of the lead armored SUV crunch violently over the fresh ice coating the North Avenue pier. Outside the tinted glass, the world is a bleak, freezing expanse of gray water and stark concrete, but inside the caravan, the air is thick with a heavy, pressurized warmth.
Dante sits beside me, a dark monolith wrapped in a heavy charcoal overcoat that broadens his already massive shoulders. He hasn't spoken since we left the estate gates. His amber eyes are fixed on the dark, looming shape of the foundry ahead, his jaw locked in that rigid, handsome sheet of marble that signals the predator is on high alert.
When the caravan grinds to a halt, the doors are thrown open instantly by our security detail. The wind off Lake Michigan hits my face like a slap of ice, cutting right through the dark wool of my winter coat, but the moment Dante steps out behind me, his massive frame blocks the worst of the gale, enveloping me in his familiar shadow.
Six colossal transport trucks are lined up along the pier, their massive diesel engines idling in a synchronized, deafening rumble that shakes the concrete beneath my boots. Standing near the front gate, shivering in a tailored coat that was never meant for the Chicago docks, is Silvio’s chief logistics officer, a nervous man named Miller.
Leo steps forward from the shadow of the foundry door, his gloved hand resting casually near the lapel of his jacket. "The weight sensors are calibrated, Donna," he says, bowing his head slightly as I approach. "Every truck is carrying maximum capacity. We’re just waiting on your clearance."
I walk past the idling trucks, my leather boots clicking sharply against the frozen ground. I can feel the eyes of the drivers on me through their windshields—men who are used to dealing with brutal enforcers, now forced to wait on a woman in an ivory silk blouse.
I stop directly in front of Miller. He looks down at me, his eyes darting to Dante, who stands just a pace behind my right shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest, his amber gaze flat and lethal.
"The... the manifests are all standard, Donna Marchetti," Miller stammers, his breath pluming in the freezing air as he holds out a digital tablet with trembling fingers. "We just need the authorization code to initiate the dump into the silos."
I don't take the tablet. Instead, I pull out the sleek black encrypted device Dante gave me in the bedroom. I look Miller dead in the eye, my voice steady and cold enough to match the lake breeze.
"The standard forty percent is already routing to our private reserve," I say clearly, my thumb hovering over the master terminal. "But Silvio forgot the winter transit tax. An additional five percent for the delay your little hesitation caused this morning."
Miller’s face goes entirely pale. "Five percent? Donna, that wasn't part of the agreement in the study—"
A low, terrifying purr rattles through the air behind me. Dante doesn't move a muscle, but the subtle shift in his posture, the dangerous twitch of the tiny pale scar through his left eyebrow, is enough to make Miller choke on his own words.
"The Donna just rewrote the agreement, Miller," Leo says smoothly, a sharp, humorless smile cutting across his face. "I suggest you authorize the transfer before the price goes up to ten."
Miller swallows hard, his knuckles turning white as he aggressively taps his tablet, confirming the altered transaction. A second later, my encrypted device vibrates with a soft, heavy hum. The screen flashes green: Transaction Approved. Funds Transferred.
I press the master button on my terminal. With a massive, grinding roar of machinery, the heavy steel grates over the foundry's underground silos slide open. The first truck begins to tilt its bed, a golden waterfall of grain cascading into our perimeter.
Dante’s large, warm hand settles firmly at the small of my back, his fingers digging into my coat with a heavy, possessive pressure that pulls me back against his chest. He leans down, his hot breath brushing the frozen skin of my ear.