Chapter 6 - THE SILVER BRACELET
The line went dead.
Sage stared at her phone, the screen slowly fading to black. The silence in the yacht cabin felt heavy enough to crush her.
She had spent three months hiding in the shadows, trying to shrink herself so Tyler couldn’t find her. She had given up her friends, her apartment, her peace of mind. But Martha? Martha was innocent. Martha had given Sage a job when she was completely broken.
“Give me the phone,” Dominic said quietly, holding out his hand.
“He has Martha,” Sage whispered, the shock giving way to a rising, suffocating tide of panic. “He said Pier 41. Tomorrow morning. He wants the key.”
Dominic took the phone from her hand and set it on the counter. He walked back over to her, his massive frame blocking out the dim light of the cabin. He reached out and gently gripped her shoulders.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Sage forced her eyes up to his.
“I am not letting you go to that pier alone,” Dominic said, his voice hard as steel. “Tyler is a rat backed into a corner. Harrison is a dirty cop with nothing to lose. If you hand them that key, they will kill you, and they will kill Martha.”
“I don’t have a choice!” Sage cried, pushing against his chest. “If I don’t go, she dies!”
“We have a choice,” Dominic corrected, not letting her push him away. He pulled her slightly closer, his grip firm and anchoring. “Tyler thinks you’re a terrified victim. He expects you to break. He doesn't expect you to walk in there with the entire weight of the Rossi family behind you.”
Sage stopped struggling. She looked into Dominic’s gray eyes. There was a dangerous, violent promise in them, but it wasn't directed at her. It was directed at the men who had hurt her.
For the first time in her life, a man was standing in front of her not to control her, but to shield her.
“What do we do?” Sage asked, her voice steadying.
Dominic released her and walked to the kitchen island. He pulled a rolled-up blueprint of the Chicago harbor from a drawer and spread it out.
“Pier 41 is an old cargo terminal,” Dominic explained, pointing to a massive warehouse on the edge of the water. “Harrison controls the police patrols in that sector, which means my men can’t drive in without triggering an alarm. But they can’t watch the water.”
He looked up at her. “I’m going to put Cain and four of my best shooters in the water beneath the pier before sunrise. But Tyler is paranoid. He will demand to see the key before he lets Martha go. You have to walk in there and make the trade.”
Sage nodded slowly. “I can do it.”
Dominic reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavy, antique brass key. He set it on the table. Then, from a separate drawer, he pulled out an identical brass key.
“A replica,” Dominic said. “My father had it made years ago as a decoy. You give Tyler the fake. The moment he takes it, I give the signal. Cain drops Harrison’s men, and I get Martha out.”
“Where will you be?” Sage asked.
“I’ll be in the rafters,” Dominic said, his voice deadly quiet. “Right above Tyler’s head.”
Sage reached into her purse. She pulled out a delicate, slightly tarnished silver charm bracelet. It had a small, silver rolling pin on it.
“Martha gave this to me when I passed my pastry chef exam,” Sage said softly. She held it out to Dominic. “Hold it for me. Promise me you’ll give it back to me when she’s safe.”
Dominic looked at the fragile silver jewelry, then at the fierce determination in Sage’s eyes. He took the bracelet, his large, calloused fingers closing around it gently. He slipped it into his breast pocket, right over his heart.
“I swear on my life, Sage,” Dominic said.
The sun began to bleed over the horizon, painting the lake in bruised shades of purple and red.
Sage walked out of the yacht wearing Dominic’s heavy wool coat, her good shoes finally retrieved from her bag. She walked down the docks toward the idling town car Marcus had stolen for the morning.
She got in the back seat. The drive to Pier 41 was silent and suffocating.
When they arrived at the rusted gates of the cargo terminal, Marcus stopped the car.
“This is as far as I can go, Miss Williams,” Marcus said, checking his sidearm. “The boss is already inside. Just keep Tyler talking.”
Sage stepped out into the freezing morning fog. The massive warehouse loomed ahead, smelling of salt, rust, and old oil.
She pushed open the heavy side door.
Inside, the warehouse was cavernous and dim. At the far end, standing near the edge of the open cargo bay doors looking out over the churning water, was Tyler. He was wearing an expensive camel-hair coat, looking entirely out of place in the industrial grime.
Beside him stood Captain Harrison, wearing a tactical vest.
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And tied to a wooden chair between them was Elena, Dominic's sister.
Sage froze. Martha wasn't there.
