Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
CHICAGO
A dria’s hotel room had a large window that overlooked Millennium Park. She had spent her morning watching the tourists explore the area’s extensive architecture and art installations.
If this trip were for pleasure, she might have been among them—snapping photos of bronze figures or sampling local cuisine. The city was overflowing with distractions: glossy storefronts, hidden alleys, rooftop cocktails. But Adria Federov didn’t take trips for leisure. Not as the head of one of the Nine.
Her presence in Chicago had been requested by Callen Winters himself—a man she trusted as far as she could throw him. He was a fellow family head and her longtime rival.
The Triune had insisted she take the meeting. And she’d spent the entire flight trying to unravel why.
Callen had been close with her father, Ivan, before his death nearly two decades ago. Back then, the Federovs held the fourth seat at the table. But when Ivan died, Adria was young—too young—and Callen had wasted no time recommending her demotion. The Triune agreed.
And so, her seat went from fourth to ninth.
At the table, ninth wasn’t just weak. It was vulnerable. It was a seat you didn’t survive in long. Unless you made yourself indispensable.
So, she did.
Her first assignment had been straightforward: deliver leverage on high-value targets. Adria excelled. Secrets were a currency, and she quickly proved herself the best collector of them. Her second task was more delicate. Brokering peace between two warring politicians and securing a deal the Triune wanted passed.
With every win, she clawed her way back up the hierarchy.
Now, she sat in the fifth seat. Just one rank below the position her father once held.
And Callen Winters—of course—was the one sitting in her way.
Which is why his invitation didn’t make sense. He was her senior. If anything, she should be the one asking for a meeting. But Adria had always kept her distance from the other families, limiting interactions to the Mar’s Opposition—the Nine’s required biannual summit.
She’d never aspired to be one of them. Power wasn’t her endgame. It was penance. The price of sharing her father’s blood.
But now that she had it, she understood the truth.
Power wasn’t something you reached for. It was something you bled for.
And once you had it?—
You had to hold on with both hands.
Adria’s phone vibrated on the desk.
X: Ready for today’s meeting ?
She gave one last glance out the window before turning her attention to the phone.
I don’t care what he offers me, there is nothing in the world that would entice me to work with him.
The Winters’ family animal was the lynx. Cunning, deadly, they hunted in the shadows. People knew them for their dubious dealings, and their heir, Bryson, had a reputation for sending over-the-top messages.
X: Don’t be so hasty. Think about your options and try to see where you can gain the upper hand.
She sighed and set the phone down.
X always had ideas. Thoughts on ways Adria could better align herself with the other families. He didn’t approve of the distance she kept from them.
When he first contacted her, a year or so after her father’s death, she hadn’t trusted him. Not even close.
But she had been eighteen, floundering under the weight of an empire she wasn’t ready to rule. Ninth at the table. One wrong move from being wiped off it entirely.
And still, in the dark and through only text messages, X had shown up when no one else did .
Over the years, his intel proved solid. Always one step ahead. Always with the answers she needed, just before she needed them. He claimed to be an “interested party”—someone who knew the Nine well and, like her, believed they had strayed from their original purpose.
That they served power now, not the people.
Adria didn’t know who he was, or what he ultimately wanted. But a decade ago, when he found information on her mother’s location, it stopped mattering. Their relationship was solidified. X kept tabs on her mother, and Adria helped him when she could.
Her phone buzzed.
X: Promise me you will keep an open mind?
She started to type: How is she?
But deleted the words before they could take shape.
Adria hadn’t seen her mother since she was six. But she wasn’t a little girl. She was the head of an international shadow organization, who just really needed a strong cup of tea.
A beep from the door panel broke her spiral, followed by a knock.
“Ma’am,” Eric’s voice called gently through the door.
“You can come in,” she said.
He stepped inside, filling the narrow entry with his broad frame. He wore a nondescript blazer, black pants, and the familiar stoicism that made her feel oddly grounded. In his hand was a large to-go cup.
Adria took it without hesitation. The warmth seeping into her fingers, loosening something in her chest. The mug wasn’t hers—but right now that didn’t matter. Her shoulders relaxed, if only slightly .
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, flashing him a rare smile.
Eric gave a slight nod, but his eyes drifted toward the neatly made bed. Scratching at his salt-and-pepper beard, he leaned a shoulder against the wall.
Adria followed his gaze. The covers were perfectly in place. Not a wrinkle.
“Ma’am…did you sleep?” he asked, the soft drawl in his voice wrapping around the words.
“A little,” she lied, moving toward the bathroom.
Eric was her Right Hand, appointed to protect, guide, and when necessary, challenge her. Every family head had one. Every heir did too.
Her father hadn’t given her one. Too young, he’d said.
Too much of a girl.
So, like most things in her life, she’d done it herself.
The bathroom held clothes she had prepped the night before. A rose blouse that covered her tattoos and family markings, and an above-the-knee pencil skirt with leather black boots.
Adria pouted her lips in the mirror, her tawny skin pairing nicely with the deep red lipstick she had chosen. She ran her fingers along her tight bun. The dark tendrils pressed to her head, and her fingers ensured there wasn’t a hair out of place.
Smoothing her skirt, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her father’s pale green eyes stared back at her. She remembered the first business meeting he had brought her to. She was ten. The tension around the table was palpable but her young self sat perfectly still. Her father had taught her that emotions get one killed. And thus, she sat like a statue throughout the meeting. Even as the warm spray of blood spattered across her face, and the man opposite her crumpled off his chair. Even as the ringing of the gunshots reverberated in her chest and ears, she sat frozen until her father’s green eyes locked on hers.
Afterwards, he told her how brave she was and even bought her an ice cream. Which she guiltily ate. Because she wasn’t brave. She was just very good at hiding being scared.
Adria blinked, her father’s green eyes fading into her own.
Callen was scum. He was the one who had suggested that her seat change to ninth at the table after her ascension. She hadn’t been able to handle him then, but she could handle him now. There was nothing she could not handle. Nothing she couldn’t take care of.
The Winters family was not one to be underestimated.
But Adria was no kitten. She knew what she wanted; she was meticulous, committed, and driven. Left nothing to chance. Planned everything down to the last detail and down to the most remote contingency.
That type of person was dangerous.
She was dangerous.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she found Eric still leaning against the wall.
“Ready?” she said.
He nodded, but didn’t leave his spot.
Patting his jacket, Eric searched the folds until he found something small.
He held it out to her.
The Federov family ring.
A gold band with a horned sheep carved into it, the family’s symbol, and the name Federov stamped under the horns.
It was her father’s ring .
She hated it.
“For appearances,” he said.
She glared at him, but he didn’t back down.
“Fine,” she snapped.
Grabbing the ring, she slipped it on her middle finger.