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Chapter 2 - The Third-Floor Apartment on the West Side and the Reality of Twelve-Dollar Groceries

Downstairs in the service wing, Clara Bennett was scrubbing the baseboards of the grand ballroom when the panic finally caught up with her.

She dropped her cleaning rag into the bucket of soapy water, her hands trembling as she wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist.

Twenty-eight years old, exhausted, and running on four hours of broken sleep, Clara lived in a constant state of low-grade terror.

Every phone call was a potential eviction notice.

Every cough from Mia was a potential doctor’s bill they couldn't afford.

And now, she had smuggled her three-year-old daughter into the most heavily guarded, dangerous mafia estate in the Midwest because her babysitter’s grandson had fallen ill and she couldn't afford to lose her job.

If Mr. Duca finds out, Clara thought, her stomach twisting into a sick knot, we’ll be thrown out onto the freezing streets before lunch.

She knew the stories about Lorenzo Duca.

Everyone in Chicago knew them.

He didn't yell. He didn't throw tantrums. He simply made people vanish.

Clara’s mind raced back to her tiny apartment on the West Side—the third-floor walk-up where the radiator groaned like a dying beast and the kitchen was so narrow she and Mia had to take turns stepping aside to open the refrigerator.

She remembered the arithmetic of survival she performed every single Sunday night at the kitchen table: rent, electricity, water, medicine, milk, diapers, bread.

There was never anything left over.

Not for a new winter coat for Mia (hence the oversized red one bought at a church thrift sale).

Not for a new pair of shoes (hence the mismatched pink socks because the dryer had eaten the mates).

And certainly not for luxuries like daycare or babysitters who didn't cancel at the last second.

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“Mia,” Clara whispered to the empty ballroom, her chest tightening with panic. “Where are you?”

She grabbed her cleaning cart, abandoned the mop, and hurried out toward the service corridor, praying to God she could find her daughter before the security guards did.

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