Chapter 3 - A Desperate Alliance
In a penthouse loft overlooking the Chicago River, Camila paced the polished concrete floor like a caged panther. Her silk designer dress was crumpled, her mascara was streaked, and her phone was pressed tightly to her ear. For the fiftieth time that evening, the call went straight to Mateo’s voicemail.
"Answer me, you bastard!" she screamed, hurling the thousand-dollar iPhone across the room. It shattered against a brick pillar, dropping onto the floor.
Sitting on the leather sofa, swirling a glass of scotch, was Dante Navarro. Dante was handsome in a sharp, predatory way, wearing a tailored suit with his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He was a rising lieutenant from the Miami underworld who had been attempting to establish a foothold in Chicago for the past three years—and the biological father of the unborn child Camila was carrying.
"I told you he would find out eventually, carina," Dante said, his tone dripping with lazy amusement. "Mateo Vargas doesn't build an empire by being blind. You played a dangerous game trying to pass off my blood as the Vargas heir."
Camila spun around, her eyes flashing with venom. "Shut up, Dante! You said the lab tech at the clinic was on your payroll! You said the paternity report would show his DNA! How did he get a second test?"
"Mateo trusts no one. Not even his bride-to-be," Dante said, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "He probably had his own medical team pull a sample during your routine bloodwork last week. He's methodical. That’s why he owns this city and I only own a few clubs on the South Side."
Camila slumped into an armchair, burying her face in her hands. "He called off the wedding. He threw me out of the estate without a single dollar. My credit cards are already frozen. Do you understand what this means? If I don't marry him, my family's debts will crush us. And once the other families find out why Mateo dumped me, I won't be able to show my face in high society again."
Dante set his glass down on the glass coffee table and leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing. The casual amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating ambition.
"Then we don't let him ruin you," Dante said quietly. "We ruin him first."
Camila looked up, her tear-stained face skeptical. "Are you insane? You can't touch Mateo. He has fifty armed men around him at all times. The police department is half in his pocket, and his legitimate businesses protect him from federal indictments."
"Every fortress has a weak spot," Dante replied, standing up and walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the illuminated river. "My scouts were watching him today. When he left the park after throwing you out, he wasn't meeting with his captains. He was sitting on a bench, letting some street kid hug him while her mother watched."
Camila frowned, remembering the scene in Lincoln Park—the maid in the blue uniform and the little girl with the art portfolio. "They were nobodies. Just some poor trash passing by."
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"Maybe," Dante mused, a cruel smile touching his lips. "Or maybe our ruthless Don is finally growing soft in his old age. He lost his heir today, Camila. He's bleeding emotionally, even if he doesn't show it. When a man like Mateo Vargas starts looking for human connection, he becomes predictable. And a predictable boss is a dead boss."
He turned back to her, extending his hand. "You know the layout of the Vargas estate. You know his security codes and his schedules. Give me everything you know, Camila. I'll take his territory, you'll get your revenge, and our child will inherit Chicago instead of Miami."
