Chapter 7 - THE MEN AT MY GATE CAME FOR MARA
Roman’s people attacked at 2:13 in the morning.
Not with an army.
That would have been easier.
They came wearing medical uniforms.
Four men.
One woman.
A stolen ambulance.
Forged credentials from a legitimate transfer service.
The front gate called the medical wing.
A dispatcher voice claimed Philadelphia had approved emergency transfer for Blythe.
Prescott stopped them before they reached the house.
Because Camille had not authorized anything.
That single discrepancy saved us.
The ambulance driver fired first.
Security returned fire.
By the time I reached the front hall, alarms were screaming.
Mara came out of the guest corridor.
“What happened?”
“Back.”
“What?”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the stone wall as a bullet shattered glass near the entrance.
Her face went white.
“Who?”
“Guess.”
Prescott’s voice sounded through the radio.
“Two down. Three moving east.”
I looked upstairs.
The twins.
“Medical wing locked?”
“Yes.”
“Odette?”
“Inside.”
“Camille?”
“Inside.”
Good.
Mara grabbed my sleeve.
“They didn’t come for the children.”
“What?”
She looked toward the shattered entrance.
“They came for me.”
I stared.
“How do you know?”
“Roman knows Franklin talked.”
“So?”
“He needs Franklin discredited.”
“And?”
“I’m the link between Genevieve’s death and the twins’ treatment.”
Her breathing came fast.
“If I disappear, he can say I fabricated everything.”
I hated that she was probably right.
“Then you’re not disappearing.”
A man in medical scrubs appeared near the east corridor.
Gun.
I pushed Mara down.
Prescott fired.
The man dropped.
Mara stared.
Not at the body.
At me.
“You could have been hit.”
“So could you.”
“That was stupid.”
“You sound like Genevieve.”
“Good.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
The attack lasted seven minutes.
It felt longer.
One attacker escaped.
Three survived arrest.
One died.
The woman driving the ambulance was captured near the gate.
She carried a burner phone.
Roman’s attorney’s number appeared twice.
Enough for another warrant.
Not enough for peace.
At 3:00, I stood inside the twins’ room.
They had slept through most of it due medication and soundproofing.
Thank God.
Jonah opened one eye.
“Was that thunder?”
“Yes.”
Chicago in winter.
Plausible enough.
He went back to sleep.
Blythe breathed steadily beside him.
Her fever had fallen again.
Mara entered quietly.
Camille followed.
She looked furious.
“At some point, your lifestyle becomes medically inconvenient.”
I stared.
“Noted.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the window.
“If we move them to Philadelphia, we need transport routes nobody inside your organization knows.”
Prescott objected.
“My people—”
“Your people are apparently shooting each other in ambulances.”
Fair.
Mara spoke.
“Federal transport.”
Prescott looked offended.
I considered.
Then nodded.
“We use federal protection.”
Prescott stared.
“You really are changing.”
“Shut up.”
Camille almost smiled.
By morning, plans were made.
The twins had to reach Philadelphia within twenty-four hours if their counts remained stable.
A specialized center had accepted both cases.
Different treatment tracks.
Same facility.
Jonah’s marrow showed the first signs of recovery.
Blythe’s remained slower.
But enough parameters improved that the team believed moving was worth the risk.
I wanted a private jet.
Camille refused.
“Too difficult to secure medically.”
We used a federally coordinated medical aircraft.
The irony was almost offensive.
One of Chicago’s most feared mafia bosses depending on federal marshals to move his children.
Genevieve would have laughed for days.
Before departure, Prescott entered my office.
“Roman’s people are splitting.”
“Meaning?”
“Some want to stay loyal to you.”
“Some?”
“Some think cooperation with the government makes you weak.”
I looked at him.
“Do they?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because weak men don’t invite federal agents into their house when it helps their children.”
I almost smiled.
Then Prescott placed documents on my desk.
“What?”
“Emergency business authority.”
“For?”
“If you leave Chicago.”
“I’m leaving for however long the twins need.”
“Exactly.”
He looked at me.
“Someone has to control operations.”
I stared at the papers.
Two years earlier, I would have signed without thought.
Today, I asked:
“Which operations?”
Prescott understood.
“The legitimate companies.”
“And everything else?”
Silence.
“Lawson.”
“No extortion.”
His eyebrows rose.
“No gambling collections.”
He stared.
“No drug routes.”
“We don’t handle—”
“Do not insult me.”
He stopped.
“No political pressure.”
“Then half the machine stops.”
“Good.”
Prescott’s face changed.
“You’re serious.”
I looked upstairs.
“My children were almost killed because nobody inside this machine knew where business ended and family began.”
“That was Roman.”
“No.”
I stood.
“Roman was possible because of us.”
Prescott said nothing.
“Secrets.”
“Fear.”
“Everyone handling problems internally.”
I laughed without humor.
“Franklin poisoned patients for years and survived because institutions preferred silence.”
Mara’s career disappeared because a powerful man controlled the narrative.
Genevieve died because I trusted family more than evidence.
No.
Enough.
Prescott asked quietly, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying while I’m gone, you keep the legal companies running.”
“And the rest?”
“Freeze it.”
His face went white.
“That could start a war.”
“Then let them fight over an empire I no longer want.”
The words surprised both of us.
Prescott stared.
“You can’t just walk away.”
“Watch me.”
He almost laughed.
Then:
“Genevieve finally won.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
I thought of my wife.
Mara.
The twins.
“Maybe I finally listened.”
At the airport, federal marshals surrounded the medical transport.
Mara stood beside me.
She wore a coat Odette bought.
New shoes.
Still no phone.
I handed her one.
She stared.
“What?”
“For emergencies.”
“I don’t need—”
“You were attacked in my foyer.”
“Your foyer is statistically unusual.”
I smiled.
She took the phone.
Blythe was carried aboard first.
Jonah second.
I followed.
Mara hesitated at the stairs.
“You coming?”
She looked back toward Chicago.
“I came to save them.”
“You haven’t.”
Her face tightened.
I continued.
“Not yet.”
Then held out my hand.
“Finish it.”
She looked at me.
Then took my hand and climbed aboard.
The plane door closed.
For the first time since I was twenty-two, I left Chicago without caring who controlled it while I was gone.
My children were ahead of me.
Mara sat across from them.
And behind us, the empire I had spent my entire life building began to crack.
May you like
I expected fear.
Instead, I felt relief.
