Alle Kapitel von Forged In Fire: Kapitel 71 – Kapitel 80

CATARINAWe were pulling through the compound gates when my phone rang.Marco's name flashed on the screen, and something in my gut twisted."Marco?" I answered, already bracing myself."Cat." His voice was tight, controlled—the tone he used when he was trying not to alarm me. "Your father's fine. But there was an incident."Ice flooded my veins. "What kind of incident?"Jameson's hand found mine immediately, squeezing hard."The Russians made a move. Attempted hit at the restaurant during his lunch meeting. We stopped it—my team was positioned, and we neutralized the threat before anyone got hurt.""Before anyone—" I couldn't breathe. "Papa—""Is completely fine," Marco said firmly. "Not a scratch on him. We had advance intel and were ready. But Cat, this was coordinated. Professional. They're escalating."My vision tunneled. The ultrasound picture on the dashboard blurred as fury—white-hot and consuming—crashed through me."I'm coming," I said, already reaching for the door handle e

CATARINADay five of Rosa's package deliveries, and I was starting to think she'd bought out half of Chicago.I stood in the war room staring at the latest arrival: a maternity pillow shaped like a giant horseshoe with a note attached. Ergonomically designed for optimal fetal positioning AND strategic planning sessions. Love, Mama."Your mother is insane," Jameson said from the doorway.I jumped, spinning to face him. "How long have you been standing there?""Long enough to see you contemplating whether to laugh or cry." He crossed the room and peered at the pillow. "Is that... does it have a built-in lumbar support system?""Apparently it's essential for pregnant women who spend long hours analyzing tactical operations."He started laughing—that deep, genuine laugh that made my chest warm. "I love your mother.""You can have her.""No thanks. I'm keeping

JAMESONThe secure location was a warehouse on the south side—one of ours, reinforced and soundproofed. Tommy Breslin sat in the center of the room, zip-tied to a metal chair, his face already showing signs of Marco's initial "conversation."I stood in the shadows, watching Declan circle him like a predator."Let's try this again," Declan said, his voice calm. "You've been selling weapons to the Russians. We know that. What we want to know is what else you've been selling them."Breslin spat blood onto the concrete floor. "I don't know what you're talking about.""Tommy." I stepped forward into the light. "We have your financial records. We have your communications. We know you've been feeding them operational intelligence. What we need to know is what intelligence and who you're getting it from."His eyes darted to me, then away. "I want a lawyer."I laughed—cold and humorless. "You think this is a courtroom? You think you have rights here?" I leaned down until we were eye level. "Yo

JAMESONThe war room was already full when Cat and I entered.Declan stood at the head of the table, Marco beside him, both men studying the tactical maps spread across the surface. My senior lieutenants lined the walls—eight men I trusted with my life. With Cat's life.With our child's life."Breslin gave us everything," I said without preamble. "The Russians are planning to strike during Cat's third trimester. They want to eliminate both the Connelly-Vitale alliance and our heir in one coordinated attack."The temperature in the room dropped."Timeline?" Marco asked, his voice deadly calm."Three months," Cat said, moving to the table. "Maybe four. We have until I'm seven or eight months pregnant before they make their move.""Then we don't give them the chance," Declan said. "We strike first.""Agreed." I pulled up the intel Breslin had provided—contact numbers, meeting locations, supply routes. "But we need to be smart about this. The Russians are expecting us to react defensively

JAMESONThe secure warehouse smelled like blood and fear.I walked into the interrogation room with compound dust still on my boots and someone else's blood dried on my shirt. Three Russian operatives sat zip-tied to chairs, their faces bruised and swollen from the firefight. They'd killed two of my men. Wounded four more.They were going to tell me everything.I didn't say a word. Just pulled out a chair, turned it backward, and sat down facing them. Let the silence stretch. Let them see the blood on my clothes and wonder whose it was.The one on the left—mid-thirties, broken nose, defiant eyes—spoke first in heavily accented English."We want lawyer."I smiled. It wasn't a nice smile."You're not under arrest. You're not getting a lawyer. You're getting me." I leaned forward. "And I'm going to ask you questions. You're going to answer them. And then I'm going to decid