Chapter 1 - the silver medal
The late afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the private office, casting golden light across the dark mahogany desk. Standing near the window was forty-two-year-old Dominic Caruso. As the feared and immensely powerful leader of the Caruso syndicate, Dominic commanded respect wherever he walked. Tall, broad-shouldered, and sharply handsome, his dark hair was neatly styled above light stubble, and dark tattoos snaked beneath his cuffs. He wore a luxurious cream three-piece suit, a crisp white dress shirt, a dark brown tie, a gold wristwatch, and polished leather shoes.
Dominic finished a high-stakes business call, ending the connection with a quiet click, and turned away from his desk.
Stopping directly between his polished leather shoes was nine-month-old Grace.
The baby girl wore a soft orange dress with white socks and cream baby shoes. She sat comfortably on the Persian rug, her light brown hair catching the sunlight, her striking gray eyes—framed by a faint, distinct gold ring around each iris—looking up at the towering Mafia Don with complete, fearless curiosity.
Grace raised both of her tiny arms upward toward Dominic.
Dominic froze. Confused by the unexpected visitor, he slowly knelt down, sliding his broad, calloused hands beneath her arms, and lifted her up into his chest.
Instead of crying, Grace immediately reached out her small fingers, grabbing his dark brown tie, and leaned her head comfortably against his cream suit jacket as if she had known him her entire life.
As she moved, a delicate silver Saint Christopher medal slipped out from the neckline of her orange dress, dangling over Dominic's lapel.
Dominic caught the silver medal in his broad palm. He turned it over under the sunlight, his breath locking in his chest as he saw a crooked letter J crudely scratched into the polished silver back.
Dominic (stunned): “Julian…”
Before he could process the realization, the heavy oak office door flew open.
Hannah Reed rushed into the room, her breath hitching as she stopped dead in her tracks. The twenty-nine-year-old housemaid wore a neat pale-pink uniform with a white collar and apron, her soft brown hair tied into a loose bun. Seeing her infant daughter cradled securely in the arms of the most dangerous man in Chicago, Hannah's fair face lost every drop of color.
Dominic stood up slowly to his full height, holding the silver medal up between his thumb and forefinger.
Dominic stared into Grace’s gray eyes, noticing the faint gold ring around her irises—the exact, rare genetic trait his late younger brother Julian had possessed. He looked toward Hannah, his dark eyes demanding the truth.
Hannah’s eyes filled with trembling tears. She offered a slow, heartbreaking nod.
Hannah (quietly): “Her father was Julian Caruso.”
Grace reached her small hand toward Hannah's apron pocket, pulling out a small sealed envelope bearing the raised wax crest of the Caruso family. Dominic instantly recognized his late brother's distinct, sweeping handwriting across the paper.
Hannah looked at Dominic in pure terror, her body trembling.
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Hannah (whispering): “He told me you could only open that if someone inside this house found us.”
Dominic slowly turned his head, his sharp gaze locking directly onto the dark, open doorway behind her.
