Chapter 4 - THE GHOST WALK
“Move!” Anthony shouted, returning fire with his own pistol. His shots echoed like cannon fire in the empty station, forcing Victoria’s men to dive behind the massive stone pillars.
I grabbed the leather satchel, ignoring the sharp pain in my arthritic knees, and hurried toward the maintenance corridor. Fifty years ago, I helped bribe the city officials who built these tunnels. I knew every blind spot, every exit, and every shadow.
We slipped into the dark, narrow hallway that ran beneath the tracks.
“Boss, we’re outgunned,” Anthony breathed heavily, reloading his magazine in the dark.
“We aren't fighting them here,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. I dialed a number I hadn't called in ten years. The line rang twice before a gruff voice answered.
“Don Sal?”
“Marco,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “Victoria has broken the truce. She sent shooters to Union Station. Clear them out.”
“Consider it done,” the old enforcer replied.
I hung up and turned to Anthony. “Let’s get back to the hospital. Lorenzo needs to see what he broke.”
By the time we returned to Chicago Memorial, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a pale, gray light over the snow-covered city.
I found Lorenzo sitting in the waiting room outside the NICU. He was entirely alone. His expensive coat was wrinkled, his hair a mess. He looked up when he heard my cane.
“She left,” Lorenzo said, his voice hollow. “Victoria. I asked her about the legal paper. She got into a cab and drove away. She didn't even look back.”
“Because you were never the prize, Lorenzo,” I said, standing over him. “You were the distraction.”
I unzipped the leather satchel and pulled out the blue baby blanket and the annulment paper. I threw them onto his lap.
Lorenzo picked them up, his brow furrowing as he read the document. “David Adams? Who is David Adams?”
“The man your wife truly loved,” I said softly, the anger draining from me, replaced by a profound sorrow. “Before you decided you owned the city, before you decided to execute her brother. To keep the peace, my Rosa forced Elena to annul her marriage to a civilian. She forced her to abort her child to ensure the Moretti bloodline remained unchallenged.”
Lorenzo’s hands began to shake violently. “No. No, Elena wouldn't do that. She loved me. In the beginning, she loved me.”
“She pitied you,” I corrected him. “She played the part to keep you alive. And you rewarded her sacrifice by treating her like a ghost.”
Lorenzo stared at the tiny blue blanket, the realization of his colossal arrogance crashing down on him. The woman he had ignored for years was a titan of loyalty, bearing a grief he couldn't even comprehend.
He buried his face in his hands and wept. Deep, agonizing sobs of a man who finally understood he had destroyed the most precious thing in his life.
“I have to fix this,” Lorenzo choked out, standing up. “I have to apologize. I have to—”
“You will do nothing,” a new voice echoed down the hallway.
Lorenzo froze. He slowly turned around.
Standing at the end of the corridor, wearing a heavy wool coat dusted with fresh snow, was a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a jagged scar across his jawline.
Lorenzo staggered backward, hitting the glass wall of the NICU.
“Arthur,” Lorenzo breathed, looking at a ghost.
But Arthur wasn't looking at Lorenzo. He was looking past him, at a team of armed hospital security guards jogging toward us.
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Except they weren't hospital security. I recognized the tactical boots beneath their uniforms. They were Victoria’s men.
Arthur drew a weapon from his coat. “Get down, Mr. Moretti! She’s taking the baby!”
