Page 3 of His Ruthless Claim

The corner of my mouth lifts slightly as another crash echoes down the hall. Father's deteriorating control, my growing support, the brewing war with the Cappallettis - each piece slides into position with mechanical precision.

I gather the photos into a neat stack, aligning their edges with mathematical care. The watch gleams as I check the time - right on schedule. Standing, I straighten my jacket and collect my keys. Tomorrow will bring another failed negotiation, another step closer to the inevitable conclusion.

No one will care he's dead when they all want him gone after all.

2

SKYE

The bell above the door chimes as Sofia Rosetti sweeps into my boutique, her designer handbag swinging from the crook of her arm. Her Louboutins click against the marble floors - a sound I've come to associate with both profit and intelligence gathering.

"Skye, darling." She air-kisses both my cheeks. "Tell me you have something that'll make these boys behave."

I lock the front door and flip the sign to 'Closed.' Sofia's visits always warrant privacy - both for her security and my discretion. Can't have a Bueti consigliere's wife running into another family's woman. Not if I want to live. "I have just the thing. The new Valentino collection arrived yesterday."

Sofia follows me to the private fitting room, her perfect posture betraying her finishing school background. Despite being married to one of Chicago's most dangerous men, she carries herself like old money royalty.

"You wouldn't believe what Tommy's crew pulled last night." She slips off her blazer as I retrieve the dress. "Three of them showed up atVerandacovered in blood. Blood! At my favorite restaurant."

I help her into the red silk dress, careful to maintain my neutral expression. "That must have been quite the scene."

"Scene? It was a disaster. The Moretti table was right there." She smooths her hands over the fabric. "If Vincent finds out they were that sloppy..."

My fingers work the zipper as I absorb this detail. The Morettis and Buetis have maintained an uneasy peace for years. A bloody display at Veranda could shatter that delicate balance.

"This cut is perfect for you." I adjust the dress's drape. "The neckline especially."

"You always know exactly what I need." She turns, examining her reflection. "Unlike these idiots who can't follow simple instructions. Vincent told them - clean work only. But no, they had to get creative."

I pin a section that needs slight tailoring, mentally filing away every word. My boutique has become a confessional of sorts for women like Sofia - a place where they can shed their carefully maintained facades along with last season's clothes.

"Speaking of creative-” She meets my eyes in the mirror. “If anyone asks, I spent the afternoon having this dress fitted for the charity gala. Nothing else."

"Of course." I smile, understanding the weight of her words. "That's all we ever do here."

Sofia's purchases stack neatly in signature shopping bags as I process her black AmEx. Through the boutique's front windows, two broad-shouldered figures in tailored suits linger by the newspaper stand. They aren't reading - their attention fixed on my storefront with predatory focus.

I maintain my practiced smile, sliding Sofia's card back. "Would you like these delivered to your usual address?"

"Yes, darling. Vincent's throwing a fit about my spending, but he'll get over it when he sees me in that red dress." She tucks a strand of perfectly highlighted hair behind her ear.

The men outside shift positions. Dark sunglasses mask their eyes, but their stance screams enforcer - the kind who handle messier assignments than simple surveillance. My fingers itch to grab my phone and warn Jazz, one of my closest friends that I met in college. With her club, The Vault, just around the corner, increased muscle on the street never means anything good. Especially not when she's marrying into the Bueti family, too.

"I'll have everything sent over this afternoon." I walk Sofia to the door, noting how one of the suits straightens when he spots her. "Your secret shopping spree is safe with me."

"This is why you're my favorite, Skye." She slides her Gucci sunglasses on. "Same time next week?"

"Of course." I flash her a smile as she leaves.

The men remain posted as I return to straightening displays, my movements deliberate and unhurried. I've learned that showing fear in this neighborhood is like bleeding in shark-infested waters. Instead, I channel my inner Sofia - projecting an air of untouchable sophistication while cataloging every detail that might keep my friends alive. I'll pass a message along to Jazz tonight if I need to.

The bell chimes again and I turn to see Mrs. Henderson stumbling in, her usual perfectly coiffed hair askew. She is one of the few women that come in here not heavily entrenched in the mafia. I think her grandson is a runner for them, trying to become made. But she's far too sweet to handle knowing that.

"Skye, oh thank goodness you're open." She clutches her pearls - a nervous habit I've observed during her weekly shopping trips. "I was walking past that old warehouse on Fifth and... the sounds." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Someone was screaming. Just awful."

I guide her toward our new resort collection, maintaining the same pleasant smile I wore for Sofia. "Let's find you somethingspecial for your upcoming Bahamas trip. The new Versace pieces would look stunning with your coloring."

"But shouldn't we call someone?" Her manicured hands flutter like startled birds. "I mean, those screams-"

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