Chapter 6 - The Krasniqi Shadow
The liquidation of Michael’s assets was executed within forty-eight hours, but the shifting of power on the North Side created a vacuum that the Albanian syndicate was more than willing to exploit.
The Krasniqi clan, led by a ruthless enforcer named Kaelen Krasniqi, had been trying to control the pharmaceutical pipelines coming through Chicago General for months. Michael’s courier had been carrying a encrypted ledger detailing the exact corrupt doctors and administrators who were on the Albanian payroll. With Michael behind bars and the ledger now in Julian’s private safe, Kaelen knew his entire operation was on the verge of collapse.
It was a rainy Tuesday evening when the first breach occurred.
I was sitting in the estate’s sunroom, trying to read a medical journal to distract myself from the phantom rattling that still echoed in my ears whenever the wind blew too hard against the glass. The house was quiet, Julian having left for a meeting downtown with the port authorities.
Suddenly, the lights went out.
The massive chandeliers flickered once, twice, and then vanished, plunging the grand house into pitch darkness. A second later, the estate’s backup generators kicked in, casting a sickly, low-voltage red glow across the corridors.
"Clara!" Marco’s voice roared from the hallway, followed immediately by the sound of heavy gunfire shattering the glass of the front conservatory.
I dropped my journal, my heart leaping into my throat as the familiar, icy terror of the basement rushed back over me. I stood up, leaning heavily on my cane, but before I could take two steps toward the door, the glass wall of the sunroom exploded inward.
Two men in black tactical gear and night-vision goggles crashed through the shattered frame, their automatic weapons raised. One of them lunged toward me, his heavy gloved hand reaching for my throat.
I didn't scream. Three months in the dark had taught me that screaming didn't bring help. Instead, I raised my wooden cane, using a technique I had learned during my self-defense classes in nursing school, and drove the heavy brass handle straight into the man’s throat.
He choked, stumbling back into the glass shards, but the second gunman grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back with a force that made my knees buckle. The cane clattered across the floor.
"We have the girl!" the second man shouted into his radio. "Move to the extraction point—"
The man’s words were cut short by a sound like a thunderclap.
The wooden double doors of the sunroom were blown off their hinges, splinters flying through the air as Julian Rossi stormed into the room. He wasn't wearing his overcoat; his white shirt was torn at the shoulder, his face smeared with soot and blood. In his hand, he held a massive silver revolver.
He fired twice without stopping his stride. The first bullet caught the man I had hit in the head, his body collapsing instantly. The second bullet tore through the shoulder of the man holding me, the force of the impact ripping him away from my arm and throwing him against the wall.
Julian didn't pause. He sprinted across the room, throwing his massive arms around my waist and pulling me behind his body just as a third gunman cleared the hallway, opening fire with an Uzi.
The bullets ripped into the leather armchairs and the wooden bookshelves, but Julian didn't flinch. He raised his revolver, firing a single, precise shot through the plaster wall. A muffled groan followed, and the sound of the automatic weapon died out.
Julian turned to me, his hands instantly gripping my face, his blue eyes wild with a terrifying, protective panic. "Are you hit? Clara, look at me! Did they touch you?"
"I’m... I’m okay," I gasped, my hands locking onto his wet shirt, my whole body shaking violently against his chest. "Julian, they... they said they wanted the ledger."
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Julian pulled me tight against his chest, his heart hammering so hard I could feel it through his ribs. "They aren't getting anything," he hissed, his voice dropping into a dark, lethal register that made the red safety lights look like blood.
"Marco! Clear the perimeter! Tell the men to take no prisoners. Every Albanian on my property dies tonight. And call Kaelen Krasniqi on the secure line. Tell him I’m coming for his throat."
