Chapter 61 South Side Symphony

• "Three years." Helena's voice had the kind of edge that made wiseguys reach for their pieces. "Three goddamn years I planted you in my boy's operation, and what lands on my desk? A fuckin' text message about some street mutt wearing his face?"
• Maria's fingers played a nervous beat against her desk, her free hand already reaching for another Red Bull. The aluminum can felt cold against her palm, like the Chicago winter trying to crawl through her office window. "Mrs. King, if you'd just let me-"
• "Mrs. King?" A bark of laughter, harsh as gunfire. "Save the formalities, sugar. This ain't exactly a social call."