Chapter 2 - The River North Sweep
The ride to River North was silent and fast. I sat in the back of the armored SUV next to Matteo, staring out the tinted glass window at the neon haze of the city. He didn't speak to me, and I was too terrified to speak to him. He simply stared forward, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights, his fingers tapping a slow, methodical rhythm against his knee.
The SUV pulled into the alleyway behind a luxury high-rise condominium complex on Erie Street. The second SUV blocked the entrance to the alley, its headlights cutting out instantly.
"Stay in the vehicle," Matteo ordered as he opened his door.
"No," I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
Matteo paused, his hand on the leather door frame, his gray eyes cutting back to me through the shadows. "Excuse me?"
"If you're going to confront him about Lily... about the money... I want to be there," I said, my voice trembling but determined. "I've spent three years being afraid of his emails, his lawyers, his threats to take her away from me if I went to the state. If this is happening, I want to look him in the eye."
Matteo stared at me for three long seconds. A faint, almost imperceptible shadow of approval touched the corner of his mouth. "The uniform stays in the car. Put this on."
He unbuttoned his heavy black wool coat and tossed it into my lap. It was incredibly heavy, warm from his body, and it smelled intensely of him. I pulled it over my shoulders, the hem dragging against my ankles, swallowing my thin frame completely.
"Follow behind me," Matteo said. "Do not speak unless I tell you to."
We entered the building through the service elevator, bypassed the security desk entirely using a master key card held by the scarred driver, and ascended to the twenty-fourth floor. The hallway was carpeted in thick, cream-colored wool that muffled our footsteps.
Matteo stopped in front of Penthouse B. He didn't knock.
The scarred driver stepped forward with a hydraulic door-breaching tool that looked like a sleek silver crowbar. He placed it against the lock mechanism. There was a low, muffled crunch of tearing metal, and the heavy oak door swung open into a dark, expansive loft.
The interior was exactly what I expected Marcus's life to look like now: polished concrete floors, a white leather sectional sofa, and an expensive stereo system playing low electronic music. On the glass coffee table sat three empty bottles of champagne and a scattering of white powder.
From the bedroom down the hall, a familiar, arrogant voice shouted out. "Who the hell is that? Tony? I told you the delivery wasn't supposed to happen until four—"
Marcus stepped into the living room, wearing a silk robe, his hair messy. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the three men standing in his home.
Then he saw me, wrapped in Matteo Valentino’s coat.
"Emma?" Marcus blinked, his confusion quickly turning into a sneer. "What the hell is this? Who are these guys? Did you bring your trashy Pilsen friends into my apartment because of that text? I told you, I don't have the money this month—"
"Shut your mouth, Marcus," I said, my voice steady for the first time in years.
Before Marcus could react, Matteo stepped out of the shadows, the light from the city skyline hitting his cold, aristocratic features.
Marcus's sneer vanished instantly. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like he was about to vomit. His knees shook beneath his robe. He recognized Matteo. Everyone in the Chicago shipping industry knew the face of the man who controlled the south terminals.
"Mr... Mr. Valentino," Marcus stammered, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "I... I don't understand. Why are you here? This is a private residence. I haven't done anything to your territory. I work for Midwest Cargo—"
"You work for Alberto Rossi," Matteo interrupted, his voice dropping into that quiet, lethal register that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "And you have been using my western rail corridors to move his unregistered cargo for six months. You thought you were clever, Marcus. You thought because you were hiding behind a low-level dispatch terminal, my family wouldn't notice the weight discrepancies in the manifests."
Matteo walked over to the white leather sofa and sat down, crossing one leg over the other, looking entirely at home in the penthouse.
"But what disgusts me more than your theft, Marcus," Matteo said softly, looking over at me, "is your bookkeeping. You owe this woman thirty-six thousand dollars in back child support according to the state guidelines you’ve been evading through your shell corporations."
"That’s... that’s a domestic issue!" Marcus cried out, his voice high-pitched with terror. "Emma, tell him! It’s between us! Why did you bring the mafia into our business?"
"She didn't bring me, Marcus," Matteo said, his gray eyes narrowing. "You invited me when you decided that a child under my protection should go without. Now, you have exactly five minutes to open your private wall safe, hand over the encrypted ledger drive for the Rossi manifests, and wire forty thousand dollars into Emma’s account. If the transfer isn't cleared by 4:15 AM, my associate behind you is going to test the structural integrity of your balcony railing using your body."
May you like
Marcus looked at the scarred driver, who gave him a slow, grotesque smile.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He fell to his knees in front of the media console, his fingers trembling so badly it took him three attempts to punch the code into the hidden digital safe.
