Chapter 4 - THE RED THREAD
The silence in the room was heavy, smelling of gun oil and stale cigar smoke.
Marcus didn't lower the shotgun. His scarred face remained an impassive mask of violence. But the little girl tugged on the hem of his heavy coat, her dark eyes still fixated on Evelyn’s wrist.
"She has the string," the girl whispered, her voice barely a squeak.
Evelyn instinctively covered her left wrist with her right hand. The red braided bracelet. Her father had tied it around her wrist the night before he vanished, telling her it was a charm for luck in a world that had none. She had worn it until it was frayed and graying.
Lorenzo glanced at Evelyn, then back at Marcus. "Put the gun down, old man. We’re bleeding."
Marcus held the aim for three agonizing seconds before slowly lowering the barrel. "I heard the scanners. The police band is going crazy. They say you’re dead, Lorenzo. They say you caught a bullet at the Obsidian."
"They were early," Lorenzo said, stepping fully into the room. He pointed to Dante. "He needs a doctor. Now."
Marcus barked an order, and two men emerged from the shadows to help Dante to a back room. Lorenzo turned his attention to the little girl. The cold, ruthless mafia boss suddenly knelt, his sharp features softening into something unrecognizable.
"Mia," Lorenzo said softly.
The girl ran from Marcus and threw her arms around Lorenzo’s neck. He held her tight, closing his eyes for a brief, vulnerable second.
Evelyn watched in stunned silence. The monster of Chicago had a daughter? No, not a daughter. The timeline didn't fit.
"She’s my sister," Lorenzo said, reading the shock on Evelyn’s face. He stood up, resting a heavy hand on Mia’s dark curls. "Half-sister. Kept off the books. Kept out of the life. Celeste didn't know about her. Nobody does. Except Marcus."
"And now a waitress," Marcus sneered, looking Evelyn up and down. "You’re slipping, Lorenzo. Bringing a civilian to a safehouse?"
"She saved my life," Lorenzo shot back, his voice snapping like a whip. "Celeste bought my inner circle. This civilian was the only one who didn't take the payout. Show some respect."
Marcus narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He turned to a heavy oak table, pouring two glasses of scotch. He slid one toward Lorenzo. "Celeste Vane. I told your father not to bankrupt her family. You don't leave a wounded animal alive. They spend years nursing the grudge, planning the strike. She didn't want your territory, Lorenzo. She wanted your blood."
"She’s going to get mine," Lorenzo growled, tossing back the scotch. "I need cash. Passports. A flight to Montreal for Mia. I have to get her out of the city tonight before Celeste figures out she exists."
"I don't have the liquid capital, boy," Marcus sighed. "Your father’s accounts are frozen. The Vane family hit the offshore servers an hour ago. You’re broke."
Lorenzo slammed the empty glass down, shattering it. "Then I’ll take it back in blood."
"I know where there's money," Evelyn blurted out.
The room went dead silent. Lorenzo and Marcus both turned to her.
Evelyn swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. She was crossing a line she could never uncross. "My father. He was a degenerate gambler. He owed everyone. But before he died, he used to brag about a ghost account. A holding vault hidden beneath the old Roosevelt station. He said the mob used it for blind drops. Unmarked bills. Millions of it."
Marcus laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "The Roosevelt vault? That’s a myth, sweetheart. A bedtime story for indebted junkies."
"It’s not a myth," Evelyn said, her voice steadying. She stepped forward, ignoring the trembling in her knees. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an old, tarnished brass key. "My father stole the key from a drunken capo twelve years ago. He hid it in the lining of his coat. I found it after he died."
Lorenzo stared at the brass key, his eyes narrowing. "You’ve had the key to a syndicate vault for years, and you’re working for tips at the Obsidian?"
"If I opened that vault, I'd be dead in a week," Evelyn said flatly. "I wanted to live."
"And now?" Lorenzo asked, stepping closer to her, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.
"Now," Evelyn whispered, looking up into his dark eyes, "they're trying to kill me anyway. And I really hate my landlord."
A slow, dark smile spread across Lorenzo’s face. It was terrifying and beautiful.
Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the warehouse. The heavy steel door blew inward, twisting off its hinges in a cloud of smoke and fire.
"They found us!" Marcus roared, raising the shotgun.
May you like
"Mia!" Lorenzo screamed.
Evelyn didn't hesitate. She dove through the smoke, grabbing the little girl just as a hail of bullets tore through the air where they had just been standing.
