THE KITCHEN EXIT

The elevator descended with a shuddering hum, depositing them into the pitch-black basement of the restaurant. Nora hit the ground rolling, her waitress uniform stained with grease and champagne, while Victor landed silently on his feet, the gun leading his line of sight.

"Are you hit?" Victor whispered, his back against the concrete wall.

"No," Nora breathed, pushing herself up. "You?"

"I’ve had worse Tuesdays." Victor’s voice was remarkably calm, though the ambient tension radiating off him could have powered a city block. He stepped closer to her in the dark. "Now, Nora. Before we go out into that alley. Who the hell are you?"

Nora swallowed hard. The truth was dangerous, but lying to Victor Romano in the dark while holding his life in her hands was a death sentence.

"My name is Nora Hayes. My father was Jimmy Hayes."

Victor’s eyes narrowed in the gloom. "Jimmy 'The Ghost' Hayes. He ran the West Side smuggling routes. He was murdered five years ago. Car bomb."

"By Madeline’s father," Nora corrected, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "The Pierces wiped out my family to take over the ports. Madeline set you up tonight to take your territory. She marries you, you die in a tragic crossfire, and she inherits the Romano empire to merge with the Pierce syndicate."

Victor absorbed this information with chilling efficiency. "You’ve been waiting for this."

"I’ve been tracking her for three years," Nora said. "I infiltrated the catering company two months ago. I knew she was going to make a move, I just didn't know when. Until I saw her phone."

Victor looked at her, truly seeing the hardened edge beneath the soft waitress facade. "You just blew three years of cover to save a man you don’t know."

"I didn't save you for you," Nora lied, looking away. "I saved you because I need you alive to destroy her."

"Fair enough," Victor said, and for the first time, a genuine, dangerous smile played on his lips. "Let’s go destroy my fiancée."

They moved through the damp basement, navigating between towering stacks of wine crates and spare linens. Nora led him to a small, grated window used for coal deliveries a century ago. She kicked the rusted latch, the metal giving way with a loud snap.

They crawled out into the freezing Chicago rain. The alley was completely deserted, save for the torrential downpour washing the garbage into the gutters. Nora scrambled to her feet, wiping wet hair from her eyes.

"We need a car," Victor stated, scanning the street. "My detail is either dead or bought off."

"I have a ride," Nora said. She ran down the alley, pulling a set of keys from her apron. Parked behind a dumpster was a beat-up, rusted 1998 Honda Civic.

Victor stopped, staring at the vehicle with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "You expect the head of the Romano family to get into a car that smells like cheap takeout and desperation?"

"I expect you to get in before Madeline’s hit squad turns this alley into a shooting gallery," Nora snapped, unlocking the doors.

Victor sighed, folding his massive frame into the passenger seat. The car roared to life, the muffler sputtering loudly. Nora threw it into drive, tires squealing on the wet pavement as they tore out of the alley, just as three black SUVs swarmed the front of the restaurant in their rearview mirror.

"Where to?" Nora asked, gripping the steering wheel tight.

"My safehouse in the Gold Coast," Victor said. "It's impenetrable."