“There isn’t, Claire,” he said softly. “As long as I am free, or as long as the family exists, we are targets. If I plead, the feds seize every asset. The captains go to prison. The name is dead.”

He reached up, his bloody thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek.

“You’ll take the money we put in the offshore trust,” he said. “The legal one. You’ll leave Chicago. You’ll raise our child somewhere where they don’t know my name.”

“I don’t want to do this without you,” I said.

“You’re strong enough,” he said, his voice growing fainter. “You always were.”

Two paramedics rushed into the warehouse, carrying a heavy orange stretcher and medical bags.

“Step back, please,” one of them said, gently pushing me away.

I stood up, my legs shaking, and watched as they began cutting away Adrian’s coat.

They pressed heavy gauze to his side, the white fabric turning red instantly.

Adrian kept his eyes on me the entire time, even as they lifted him onto the gress.

“We’re transport him to Northwestern Memorial,” the paramedic told Miller. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”