Chapter 3 - THE SILVER CREST
The gunshot cut through the chaos like a crack of thunder.
Marco’s leg buckled. The burly lieutenant let out a guttural scream, collapsing behind the bar, dropping his radio. The masked cleaners sweeping the room didn't even flinch at the sound—they kept advancing, entirely ignoring the man Lorenzo had just shot.
Evelyn clapped a hand over her mouth, horror turning her blood to ice. "What are you doing?!" she hissed, pulling Lorenzo back behind the marble pillar as a spray of bullets shattered the plaster above their heads.
"Paying attention," Lorenzo replied flatly. He swiftly reloaded his weapon, his face an impenetrable mask. "The hitmen ignored Marco. And Marco was calling for backup on a dead frequency. He’s with Celeste."
He grabbed Evelyn’s wrist. His grip was iron-tight, pulling her toward the kitchen doors. "Move. Now."
They scrambled through the debris, the smoke thickening as a fire sparked near the shattered wine racks. Evelyn’s non-slip waitress shoes slid on spilled champagne and blood, but Lorenzo hauled her upright every time she faltered. They burst through the ruined kitchen, the chefs having already fled through the loading dock.
Lorenzo didn't head for the exit. He dragged her toward the manager’s office in the back, kicking the door open.
"The alley is a choke point," he muttered, quickly dragging a heavy filing cabinet in front of the door. "If Marco knew, the perimeter is locked down. We need the service tunnels."
He turned to her. In the dim emergency lighting, he finally looked at her—really looked at her. "What's your name?"
"Evelyn. Evelyn Carter."
Lorenzo froze. The pistol in his hand dipped slightly. For a fraction of a second, the impenetrable mafia boss looked genuinely shocked. "Carter? Arthur Carter’s daughter?"
Evelyn felt the breath knocked out of her lungs. "You... you knew my father?"
Before Lorenzo could answer, heavy footsteps pounded outside the office door. Someone slammed against the wood, testing the barricade.
"Moretti!" a muffled voice yelled through the door. It was Marco. He sounded breathless, in pain. "It’s over, boss! Celeste owns the board. Give up the girl, and you walk away."
Evelyn’s heart stopped. Give up the girl? Why did they care about a waitress?
Lorenzo didn't answer. He stepped silently to the door, pulling a heavy silver Zippo lighter from his pocket. He clicked it open, igniting the flame, and held it to the room's fire sprinkler sensor on the ceiling.
Black water exploded downward, instantly flooding the office and drowning out the noise. Under the cover of the downpour, Lorenzo kicked open the floor grate that led to the restaurant's basement utility tunnels.
"Go," he ordered, shoving her down into the darkness.
She scrambled down the rusty ladder, soaking wet and shivering. Lorenzo dropped down right behind her, pulling the heavy grate shut just as the office door splintered open above them.
The tunnel was pitch black, smelling of mildew and old copper. Lorenzo clicked on a small penlight. He reached into his coat and pulled out something he had snatched from the bar on their way past Marco.
He handed it to Evelyn. "Look at it."
It was a silver pocket watch, heavily dented. Evelyn wiped the dirty water from her eyes and squinted at it in the beam of the flashlight. Engraved on the front was a snarling wolf—the Moretti family crest.
"That’s my Uncle Silas's watch," Lorenzo said softly. "Marco was carrying it. Celeste isn't just taking over my territory, Evelyn. My own blood sold me out to help her."
Evelyn stared at the watch, trembling. "But why do they want me?"
Lorenzo’s jaw set into a hard line. "Because your father didn't gamble away his life, Evelyn. He was the best accountant the Chicago syndicate ever had. And before he vanished, he hid fifty million dollars of my uncle's money. They think you know where it is."
Evelyn stumbled back against the damp brick wall, her mind spinning. Everything she knew about her ruined childhood, her father's disgrace, the crushing debt—it was all a lie.
"Come on," Lorenzo said, gripping her elbow gently this time. "The tunnel lets out two blocks away in an alley."
They navigated the dark passage in silence, Evelyn’s mind racing. When they finally reached the rusted iron door at the end of the tunnel, Lorenzo pushed it open slowly. The cold Chicago night air hit them, carrying the distant wail of police sirens.
They stepped into the alley.
Headlights immediately blinded them.
A sleek Chicago PD cruiser was idling silently at the end of the narrow brick corridor, blocking their only exit. The driver’s side window rolled down with a hum.
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Evelyn held her breath, waiting for a cop to shout orders. Instead, a silver-haired man in a bespoke cashmere overcoat leaned out the window, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Enzo," Silas Moretti smiled, leveling a shotgun at his nephew's chest. "Get in the car."
