“Done,” Dante said without a second of hesitation. “Take the territory.”

“I am not finished,” Moretti sneered, his tone turning sharp.

“Go on,” Dante said.

“I want the girl too,” Moretti said.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Sophia comes with the deed to the docks,” Moretti said. “She kneels before me, and she stays with me.”

“That is not going to happen,” Dante growled, his knuckles turning white around the phone.

“Then the child dies,” Moretti said flatly.

“If you touch her, I will tear Chicago apart to find you,” Dante said.

“You can try,” Moretti said. “You have three hours to decide.”

“Where do we meet?” Dante demanded.

“I will text you the location,” Moretti said. “Come alone, Russo. Or the little girl goes into the lake.”

The line went dead.

The screen darkened, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light above the sink.

I stared at the black screen, my mind spinning into a dark, cold void.

Dante threw the burner phone onto the counter.

He pulled his personal phone from his coat pocket and dialed a rapid sequence.

“Marcus,” Dante barked into the receiver. “Get everyone.”