Chapter 6 - The Girl in the Yellow Coat
The rain stung my face as I stood frozen on the slick cobblestones.
A ten-year-old girl standing in the middle of a mafia warzone, holding a family heirloom like it was a lunchbox, telling me my father had anticipated every move we made.
“Who is she?” I demanded, turning to Antonio as Marcus kept his weapon trained on the dark mouth of the alleyway behind us.
My father didn't answer immediately. He leaned heavily against the side of the armored SUV, coughing into a handkerchief that came away stained with a dark, worrying streak of red.
“Her name is Mia,” Emily said softly, stepping past us to gently place a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Emily’s voice softened completely, shedding the hard edges of the assassin she had played in the restaurant. “She’s Vincent’s daughter.”
My blood ran cold.
“Vincent’s daughter?” I stared at the child, the pieces suddenly clicking together with terrifying clarity. “Vincent betrayed us, and you brought his kid into this?”
“Vincent betrayed the commission years ago, Lorenzo—he just didn't know it yet,” Antonio rasped, finally catching his breath as he climbed awkwardly into the back seat of the SUV. “He thought he was playing both sides to keep his family safe. But men like Vincent always end up crushed between two stones.”
Mia looked up at me, her dark eyes completely devoid of the fear a child should have felt in an alleyway smelling of cordite and rain. She reached out and held the silver pocket watch toward me.
“My dad told me that if I ever gave this to you, it meant the old man was finally ready to tell the truth,” Mia said, her voice steady and unnaturally mature. “He said you’d be angry. He said you’d want to break things. But he also said you’re the only one who can fix it.”
I took the watch from her small hand. It was cold, ticking with a steady, rhythmic heartbeat that contrasted sharply with the chaos echoing from the hotel behind us.
“Where is Vincent?” I asked, crouching down so I was eye-level with her.
“He went to the river house,” Mia said simply. “He said if he didn't draw them away from us, nobody in this car would live to see sunrise.”
Marcus dropped into the front passenger seat, slamming the armored door shut and locking the electronic overrides. “Boss, we’ve got tail. Two black sedans just pulled into the mouth of the alley. They’re weaponized.”
“Drive,” I said, climbing into the back seat beside my father and pulling Emily and Mia in behind us.
The SUV’s heavy engine roared to life, tires squealing against the wet cobblestones as Marcus punched the accelerator, smashing through a rotting wooden gate at the end of the alley and launching us out onto the deserted riverside avenue.
In the side-view mirror, I watched two sleek black sedans burst out of the alley behind us, their high-beams cutting through the sheets of rain like searchlights.
“They’re gaining!” Marcus shouted, wrestling the steering wheel as the SUV fishtailed on the wet asphalt.
Antonio didn't flinch. He reached inside his heavy wool coat and pulled out a small, encrypted satellite phone—the kind used by intelligence agencies and high-level cartels. He tossed it into my lap.
“Call the number on speed dial one,” my father said, his voice dropping into a lethal, chilling calm.
“Who is it?”
“The man who really runs the Chicago police department,” Antonio said, staring straight ahead through the rain-streaked windshield. “It’s time to cash in every favor I’ve bought over the last thirty years. If we’re going to burn the commission, we’re taking the whole city down with us.”
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I picked up the heavy phone, my thumb hovering over the green call button.
Before I could press it, a deafening explosion shattered the night air behind us, and the rear window of our SUV starred into a spiderweb of pulverized glass as a high-caliber round punched straight through the armor plating.
