Chapter 4 - The Fire in River North
The black Mercedes cut through the damp Chicago twilight like a blade, exiting the Kennedy Expressway at Ontario Street and plunging directly into the heart of River North.
Natalie sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead through the windshield, her hands clenched tightly into fists in her lap. The confident, untouchable woman who had dismissed me under the beach canopy twenty-four hours earlier had been replaced by a survivor watching her walls cave in.
"The city inspector isn't scheduled to return until Wednesday," she murmured, her voice hollow. "Someone bribed him to red-tag the building early. Someone who wanted my studio space cleared out before the zoning board meets."
"Do you know who owns the building adjacent to yours?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the wet asphalt ahead.
"A holding company called Meridian Real Estate," she said, frowning. "A corporate shell based out of Delaware. Why?"
"Meridian Real Estate is a wholly owned subsidiary of Vale Holdings," I replied calmly.
She whipped her head around to stare at me, her hazel eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "You... you own the building next to mine?"
"I own the entire block, Natalie," I reminded her gently. "Including the mortgages, the tax titles, and the municipal permits. If an inspector red-tagged a property in my district without my direct authorization, he didn't just break city code. He trespassed."
The Mercedes swung around the corner of Franklin Street and pulled up directly in front of a three-story red-brick loft building. Two municipal police cruisers were parked across the curb, their emergency flashers painting the wet brick in rhythmic sweeps of blue and red. Standing near the entrance was a heavly built city inspector holding a clipboard, flanked by two private security guards wearing dark windbreakers bearing the logo of Vance Security—a rival syndicate operating out of the western suburbs under the leadership of Arthur Vance.
I killed the engine.
"Stay in the car," I instructed, my hand resting briefly on her knee.
"Dominic, no," Natalie protested, reaching for the door handle. "Those guards are armed. Vance’s men don't play by city rules—"
"Neither do I," I interrupted.
I stepped out onto the wet pavement just as Ethan Cole materialized from the shadows beside the building, his face carved from cold stone.
"Boss," Ethan reported quietly. "Vance’s men have a forged eviction notice tucked inside the front door lock. They were planning to gut the studio tonight and dump her physical models into the river."
I adjusted my cuffs, the gold signet ring catching the harsh red glow of the police cruisers.
"Clear the street, Ethan."
Ethan didn't blink. He raised two fingers, and instantly, three unmarked black SUVs rounded the corner of Grand Avenue, cutting off the municipal police cruisers from behind. Twelve men in dark coats poured out of the vehicles, their movements silent, disciplined, absolute.
The city inspector dropped his clipboard as Ethan and two of my enforcers closed in on him from the front.
I walked past them, my leather shoes clicking sharply against the concrete. I didn't look at the inspector. I walked straight up to the heavy oak door of Natalie’s studio, where a bright orange CONDEMNED sticker had been plastered over the brass handle.
With a single, effortless twist of my fingers, I ripped the sticker away, crumpled it into a ball, and dropped it into the wet gutter.
I drew the heavy master key from my vest pocket—a duplicate key that my property management division had logged three years ago—and unlocked the door.
Inside, the studio was dark, smelling of fresh pine wood, drafting ink, and expensive coffee.
Footsteps rushed up behind me. Natalie pushed past the security cordon, her eyes wide as she took in the untouched interior of her workspace. Her drafting tables, her computer monitors, her physical cardboard models of the historical lofts—everything was exactly where she had left it on Friday afternoon.
"They... they didn't touch anything," she whispered, turning to look at me with a mixture of profound relief and terrified awe.
I stepped inside, closing the heavy oak door behind us to shut out the flashing red lights of the street.
"Vance’s men were waiting for the midnight shift to move the furniture," I said, closing the distance between us. "They wanted you to come in tomorrow morning and find an empty room so you’d sign a waiver relinquishing your lease out of despair."
Natalie looked up at me, the rigid, defiant armor she had worn since the moment we met finally dissolving completely. A single tear broke over her lower lash, tracking down her cheek.
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"Why are you doing this, Dominic?" she asked, her voice cracking. "You didn't have to mobilize a private army just to save a failing architectural studio in River North."
"It's not a failing studio," I corrected, reaching out to cup her face, my thumb wiping away the tear before it could fall. "It's your life, Natalie. And in case you haven't figured it out yet... I don't share what belongs to me."
