Chapter 1 - THE CRACKED PUMP
(Summary of provided excerpt)
Callum Russo, head of the North Side syndicate, valued time above everything else. Power was fluid, but time was a strictly declining balance. Waiting in the rear leather booth of the Continental—a discreet, high-end steakhouse used to wash his syndicate’s books—he watched the gold hands of his Patek Philippe glide past 9:10 PM. His scotch melted untouched. He was ready to sever his contract with Sadie Miller, an exceptionally punctual, highly competent art appraiser who spent her days in museum basements and her quiet nights authenticating stolen centuries-old masterworks for his private auctions.
When the heavy doors swung open, Sadie stepped inside soaked from the freezing Chicago downpour. Pale and shaking, she offered an apology about a stalled train and a six-block walk in the dark, clutching her leather portfolio against her chest. Callum, cold and unyielding, commanded her to sit. But as she moved, her mask slipped. She gasped, nearly collapsing into the booth as she favored her right side.
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Beneath the linen table, Callum looked closer. Her left leg was extended at an unnatural angle. Her sheer black tights were shredded from the knee down, her sensible black heel torn clean off, and the ruined leather was soaked in wet mud and fresh blood. Yet Sadie hurriedly tried to present provenance documents for a late-sixteenth-century Caravaggio sketch as if nothing were wrong.
Callum ignored the papers. Leaning forward, he demanded to know why she was limping. When she claimed she slipped on the rainy train platform, he reached across the wood and pinned her trembling hand. His thumb traced her wrist, uncovering purple, unmistakable finger-shaped bruises left by a heavy, brutal grip. She whispered that it was only a street mugging, begging him to return to business. Callum stood, dropped a crisp bill, and declared their meeting over. Her report no longer mattered; something far more dangerous had followed her into his territory.
