Page 62 of His Ruthless Obsession

My jaw clenches. Fucking tech geeks and their ability to find shit that should stay buried. "That's my business."

"Sure." He shrugs, but there's steel beneath the casual gesture. "But we have a mutual friend — one I'd help out if she asks. And I've got enough dirt on everyone in this city to make things real uncomfortable if anything happens to her."

It's not an empty threat. I've seen the kind of scorched earth Elliott leaves behind when someone crosses him or his people.

Before I can say anything more, the door opens and Marco strides in, jaw clenched tight. "We lost another shipment."

I mute the security feeds. "Where?"

"South Side dock. Mantiones hit hard. Three of our guys in the hospital." Marco's hands curl into fists. "They're getting bold after what happened to their crew."

"Of course they are." I stand, rolling my shoulders. "Dead family members tend to have that effect."

Elliott's typing slows, his attention clearly divided between his screen and our conversation. Smart boy — gathering intel while pretending not to listen.

"We should hit back," Marco says, pacing. "Send a message."

"And start an all-out war?" I shake my head. "Lorenzo wants this handled quietly."

"Fuck quiet. They're bleeding us dry."

"Watch your tone." My voice drops low, a warning that makes Marco freeze mid-step. "I understand your frustration, but we play this smart."

"And the shipments we lost?"

"Write them off. For now." I walk to the window, studying the Chicago skyline.

Before I can say anything more, Elliott turns around. "Hey, Nerio? I think you're going to want to see this."

Perfect timing.

I walk to my desk. "Bring it over here."

He closes his laptop, unplugs a small flash drive, and approaches my desk. His movements are careful, measured. Smart man.

Everything about him is perfectly crafted. I'd respect it if it didn't make me less trusting.

Especially when I owe him two favors.

"You're not going to like this." Elliott plugs the drive into my computer. Multiple windows pop up — text messages, emails,surveillance photos. "It seems Luca has run to daddy. Don Mantione's planning something big. Like, scorched earth big."

I lean forward, scanning the messages. "The Vault?"

"Yeah. Look at this." He points to a series of encrypted texts. "They've been watching your security rotations, mapping out blind spots. They're planning to hit during peak hours on Saturday."

Marco moves closer, reading over my shoulder. "Fuck."

My jaw tightens. "How many?" I ask.

"At least thirty guys. Heavy artillery." Elliott swipes through more files. "They're calling in favors from other families. Offering cuts of future profits if they help take The Vault. Mantione's betting everything on this."

"Because he's desperate," Marco mutters. "After what happened to his crew-"

"He needs a win," I finish. "Something big enough to prove he hasn't gone weak — and his son deserves his position." I study a grainy photo showing cases of weapons being loaded into unmarked vans. "When are these from?"

"Last night. They're using old school methods now — burner phones, dead drops. But they slipped up." Elliott taps the screen. "One of Mantione's guys used his personal email to coordinate with their weapons supplier. Once I was in, I found everything."

The timestamp on the latest message catches my eye. "They're meeting tonight to finalize details."

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