Chapter 6 - The Night the King of Chicago Bled
The second traitor was not a guard.
It was Ethan’s attorney.
Caleb Warren had represented the Callahan family for sixteen years.
He handled mergers.
Criminal investigations.
Tax disputes.
He had sat beside Ethan during federal hearings and beside Patrick Callahan during the last months of his life.
And according to Marcus, Caleb had accessed Ethan’s private files seventeen minutes after we watched Adam’s recording.
I expected Ethan to explode.
He did not.
That was how I knew Caleb was in trouble.
“Bring him here.”
Caleb arrived at ten in the morning wearing a navy suit and the expression of a man who still believed he could talk his way out of anything.
He looked at me.
Then at Ethan.
“What is this?”
Ethan sat behind his desk.
“You accessed the Pierce file.”
“I’m your attorney.”
“At two-thirteen in the morning.”
“I work late.”
“You copied it.”
Caleb smiled.
“Ethan.”
Marcus placed a drive on the desk.
“We recovered the transfer log.”
Caleb’s smile disappeared.
Nobody spoke.
Then Ethan said, “Who owns you?”
Caleb looked offended.
“You know me.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I’ve protected this family for sixteen years.”
“Who owns you?”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“Declan does not own me.”
Wrong answer.
Ethan had not said Declan.
Marcus moved toward the door.
Caleb saw it.
His shoulders dropped.
“It started with your father.”
Ethan did not move.
“What did?”
“Patrick made decisions that would have destroyed everything.”
“You mean cooperating with prosecutors.”
“I mean dismantling companies that employed thousands of people.”
“You helped Declan stop him.”
“I helped preserve the family.”
“You helped murder him?”
Caleb’s face changed.
“Careful.”
Ethan stood.
“No.”
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
“You should be careful.”
Caleb swallowed.
“I never touched Patrick.”
“But you knew.”
Silence.
That was enough.
Ethan looked like someone had carved another hole inside him.
First Victor.
Now Caleb.
Men he trusted.
Men who sat at his table.
People who knew what Lily’s death had done to him.
Caleb continued.
“Declan believes in survival.”
“Declan believes in control.”
“And you believe what? That the Callahan name survives because you host charity dinners?”
Ethan walked around the desk.
“You think legitimacy makes you better than the men who built this?”
“No.”
Ethan stopped inches away.
“I think choosing what comes next does.”
Caleb laughed.
“Your father said something similar.”
Ethan hit him.
One punch.
Clean.
Caleb fell against a chair.
Marcus moved instantly.
Ethan did not strike again.
That mattered.
The Ethan Callahan from twelve years ago might have.
The Ethan standing in front of me stopped himself.
“Get him out.”
Federal agents collected Caleb within the hour.
He agreed to cooperate before dinner.
People who survive by betrayal rarely develop loyalty in jail.
His testimony gave investigators what they needed to begin freezing accounts tied to Declan.
It also triggered war.
Not gunfire.
Something worse.
Callahan Holdings stock plunged.
Three banks suspended credit lines.
News outlets received anonymous packets describing Ethan as the leader of an organized-crime empire.
Photos appeared online.
Ethan entering nightclubs.
Ethan with union bosses.
Ethan beside men later convicted of crimes.
Some photographs were real.
Some were manipulated.
All of them worked.
By afternoon, reporters surrounded the estate gate.
The headline appeared on every Chicago station.
CALLAHAN EMPIRE CRACKS FROM WITHIN.
I watched from the kitchen.
Sophie sat in a high chair eating mashed banana.
Ethan walked in.
He looked exhausted.
“You’re famous.”
“Again.”
“Not in a good way.”
“Was I ever famous in a good way?”
I thought about the charities.
The hospitals.
The scholarship programs.
“You hide the good things.”
“So do newspapers.”
He poured coffee.
I took the pot away.
“No.”
He stared.
“You were shot yesterday.”
“Grazed.”
“No coffee.”
“This may be the most unreasonable restriction anyone has imposed on me.”
I poured tea.
“Survive.”
He looked at the cup.
“What is this?”
“Chamomile.”
His expression was almost insulting.
“Drink it.”
He did.
That should have been my first warning that I was becoming dangerous to him.
Later that evening, Elena found me on the terrace.
She wore jeans and one of Lucas’s sweaters.
Married less than forty-eight hours and already hiding inside the home of Chicago’s most notorious family.
“Not exactly the honeymoon you planned.”
She laughed.
“Lucas says we’re building character.”
“I like him.”
“So do I.”
She leaned against the railing.
Then looked at me.
“You like Ethan.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“I barely know him.”
“You trusted him with Sophie.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You threatened a pediatrician for touching Sophie without warming his hands.”
“He was freezing.”
“You let Ethan carry her through the house.”
I said nothing.
Elena smiled.
“There it is.”
“There is nothing.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Decide you’re not allowed to want something before you know whether it can work.”
That irritated me because it was true.
“Adam died.”
Her smile faded.
“I know.”
“I just found out what happened.”
“I know.”
“It feels wrong.”
“To care about someone else?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel.”
She took my hand.
“Grief isn’t marriage.”
I looked at her.
“You don’t have to stay faithful to a future that was stolen from you.”
The words hurt.
Because part of me had been doing exactly that.
“I loved Adam.”
“I know.”
“I think I would have married him.”
“Maybe.”
“And Sophie—”
“Sophie can have more than one person love her.”
I stared toward the lake.
“Ethan is dangerous.”
“So are Chicago winters.”
“Not helpful.”
“He’s also gentle with your daughter.”
“He’s a Callahan.”
“You’re a Morales.”
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Dad died trying to help his father.”
She smiled sadly.
“Maybe names don’t get the last word.”
That night, Ethan received a call.
Declan.
This time he answered privately.
I didn’t hear the conversation.
I saw the aftermath.
He walked into the study.
Locked the door.
Stayed there for an hour.
When he came out, something in him was colder.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Bad answer.”
He looked at me.
“Declan offered peace.”
“In exchange for?”
“You leaving Chicago.”
“With Sophie.”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“And the evidence.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
Ethan’s expression was almost bored.
“No.”
“Just no?”
“I added profanity.”
“Good.”
He walked past me.
I grabbed his arm.
“What else?”
He stopped.
“How do you know there’s more?”
“You’re terrible at pretending not to care.”
He almost smiled.
“Declan said Lily’s death wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I let go.
“What?”
“He admitted ordering the bomb.”
My blood chilled.
“He said it was meant to scare me.”
“By blowing up your car?”
“Yes.”
“And your sister took it.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“Ethan.”
“He said Patrick’s death was necessary after that.”
There it was.
A confession.
“Was the call recorded?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He contacted a burner through a relay. Marcus tried.”
I cursed.
Ethan’s eyes were hollow.
“He killed my sister because he wanted me obedient.”
There are moments when comfort feels insulting.
I did not say it would be okay.
It would never be okay.
Instead, I stepped closer.
“He doesn’t get to take the rest of your life.”
Ethan looked at me.
“You sound like my father.”
“Was he usually right?”
“No.”
“Then I withdraw the comparison.”
A weak laugh.
I touched his hand.
That was all.
He turned his palm upward.
Held mine.
No kiss.
No declaration.
Just two people standing in a dark hallway while everything around them collapsed.
Then the first explosion shook the windows.
I screamed.
Security alarms erupted.
Ethan pulled me down.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
Another explosion.
Outside.
Near the gate.
Marcus’s voice came over the radio.
“Vehicle bomb. North entrance.”
Sophie.
I ran upstairs.
Ethan followed.
Margaret already had her.
Guards moved toward the safe room.
Then gunfire erupted from the west side of the property.
Too coordinated.
Not an attack to win.
An attack to overwhelm.
Ethan pushed us toward the safe room.
“I’m staying.”
“With us?”
“No.”
My heart stopped.
“You were shot yesterday.”
“This is my house.”
“I don’t care.”
“Rachel.”
“Do not walk away from Sophie right now.”
His expression changed.
Sophie reached toward him.
Tiny fingers.
Trusting.
Something broke through the armor.
He took her.
Kissed the top of her head.
Then handed her back.
“I’ll come back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
I hated him for being honest.
He looked at me.
“If I don’t—”
“Don’t.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
I grabbed his shirt and kissed him.
I didn’t plan it.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t ask whether grief allowed it.
My mouth met his.
For one second, Ethan froze.
Then his hand touched the back of my neck.
The kiss deepened.
Fear.
Anger.
Months of loneliness.
Everything.
Then I pulled away.
“Now you have to come back.”
His forehead touched mine.
“That is an extremely manipulative strategy.”
“Learned from the Callahans.”
A gunshot cracked nearby.
He left.
The safe-room door closed.
For forty minutes, we waited.
Sophie cried.
Elena prayed.
Margaret held a kitchen knife even though we were behind three inches of steel.
Then silence.
Finally the door opened.
Marcus.
Blood on his cheek.
“Clear.”
I pushed past him.
“Ethan?”
He hesitated.
My heart stopped.
“Where is he?”
“Driveway.”
I ran.
Cold air burned my lungs.
Emergency lights flashed across smoke.
Two vehicles burned near the gate.
Security men moved everywhere.
Then I saw Ethan.
On the ground.
A medic kneeling beside him.
Blood covered his shirt.
Too much.
“Ethan!”
I dropped beside him.
His eyes opened.
“Rachel.”
“What happened?”
“Bullet.”
“I can see that.”
The medic pressed gauze against his side.
“We need to move.”
Ethan looked at me.
“Sophie?”
“Safe.”
His eyes closed.
“Good.”
“No. Open your eyes.”
He did.
Barely.
“Bossy.”
“Stay awake.”
Sirens approached.
Federal agents.
Ambulance.
Police.
I grabbed his hand.
“You promised.”
“I said I’d come back.”
“You are not allowed to define this as coming back.”
A faint smile.
Then his fingers loosened.
“Ethan?”
The medic pushed me away.
“Ma’am.”
“Ethan!”
Everything became motion.
Stretcher.
Oxygen.
Blood.
Commands.
I stood in the driveway holding his blood on my hands.
And for the first time since meeting the King of Chicago, I understood exactly what terrified me about him.
May you like
It wasn’t his power.
It was the possibility of losing him.
