Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Lorenzo looked at Chloe. The man's smile widened. “Ask her about Agent Daniel Cross.” Chloe froze. It was the first time Lorenzo had seen genuine fear in her eyes. The stranger continued, “Ask her what happened the night he died.”
Chloe grabbed Lorenzo's arm. “We have to go.” But Lorenzo did not move. “Who was Daniel Cross?” Chloe stared at him for several seconds before answering. “My brother.” Her voice cracked slightly. “And Victor Capello was the last person who spoke to him alive.”
The words hit Lorenzo harder than the bullet in his shoulder. Victor had not simply betrayed him tonight. He had been connected to the secret Chloe had spent years running from. Somewhere behind them, more footsteps echoed through the passage. Chloe tightened her grip on Lorenzo's arm and whispered, “Now you understand why I disappeared.”
Lorenzo looked toward the darkness ahead. “No,” he said quietly. “Now I understand why they were so desperate to find you.” Chloe met his eyes. “And what are you going to do?” Lorenzo raised his weapon and stepped beside her. “Find out what Victor did to your brother.” Outside, thunder rolled over Chicago as the hunt for the truth finally began.
The crawl space smelled of damp plaster and old lath. Chloe pulled Lorenzo deeper into the brick veins of the hollow wall, listening to the fallen gunman’s curses fade beneath another low roll of thunder.
Lorenzo pressed his hand to his bleeding shoulder, leaning into her pace. His breath was ragged against her ear, yet his gray eyes remained fixed on her profile, refusing to look away from her.
“Daniel was special agent in charge,” she said, her voice dropping to a sharp murmur. “He spent four years dismantling the old syndicate until someone in your family paid his partner to leave a door unlocked.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened until the bone showed white beneath his skin. He remembered the headlines from eight years ago, the sudden federal collapse, and the whispered rumors of a rogue agent who had vanished with everything.
“Victor told the council the agent took a bribe,” Lorenzo whispered back, each word dragged through grit. “He told my father the feds were dirty, that we were safe because the sister had drowned in Lake Michigan.”
Chloe stepped through a narrow opening into a dark tailor’s shop next door. The scent of wool and cedar greeted them, silent and undisturbed while sirens wailed in the rainy streets outside.
“I didn’t drown,” she said, locking the hidden panel into place. “Daniel drove me into the marsh with three bullets in his chest. He shoved a flash drive into my coat and told me to become nobody.”
Lorenzo looked at her hands, still steady despite the blood staining her white server shirt. “Three years in The Sovereign. You watched me every single week while holding the bullet that could bury my family.”
“I wasn’t holding a bullet, Capello. I was waiting for the one man who ordered the hit. I knew Victor would eventually try to take your seat, because vultures cannot resist an injured lion.”
A heavy strike shook the front glass of the tailor’s shop. Chloe pulled him beneath a display counter draped in heavy tweed, her fingers curling around the spare pistol she had taken from his chest.
Through the storefront glass, twin headlights swept the rain-drenched avenue. Three armored SUVs bearing unmarked government plates idled at the curb, their black paint glistening under the sodium streetlights of Chicago’s west side.
“Those aren’t Victor’s street soldiers,” Lorenzo noted, his voice flat with realization. “Federal transport vehicles. Black market tactical gear. Victor isn’t just running rogue capos. He bought a federal division with Daniel’s stolen network.”
“Special Agent Marcus Vance,” Chloe whispered, her eyes turning to flint. “Daniel’s handler. The man who signed my death certificate eight years ago and handed Victor the keys to Chicago’s deepest wiretaps.”
Lorenzo reached down, ripping a length of raw silk from a bolted roll on the counter. He wrapped it twice around his torn shoulder, pulling the knot tight with his teeth without making a sound.
“If Vance is in Chicago,” Lorenzo said, “then the city is already closed. The airports, the tollways, the precinct captains. Victor bought the law, and Vance bought the street. We are trapped in their perimeter.”
“Good,” Chloe said, checking the magazine of the compact weapon. “When rats build a cage around you, it means they are terrified of what happens when you step out into the open.”
She led him through the tailor’s rear exit into an alley choked with grease and storm runoff. They slipped between shadows, moving west toward the industrial rail yards where the city forgot its own name.
May you like
The rain fell in sheets now, washing the red smears from Lorenzo’s jacket. His fever was rising, but his steps grew firmer with every block, driven by the cold rage of an orchestrated betrayal.
—END OF Chapter 3,
