Chapter 4 - THE GHOST IN THE THREAD
"Leo!" Dominic roared, ripping his door open before the Volvo even came to a complete stop.
He sprinted across the wet grass, his injury completely ignored. Iris chased after him, her heart hammering against her ribs. Dominic dropped to his knees beside the elderly nun, checking her pulse.
"She's alive," he breathed, but his eyes were fixed on the heavy oak doors of the orphanage. They had been splintered open with a crowbar.
Dominic drew a backup pistol from an ankle holster. He moved into the dark, silent building with terrifying, practiced silence. Iris followed closely behind him, terrified of the dark, but more terrified of being left alone outside.
The hallways smelled of floor wax and old incense. The children's dormitories on the first floor were empty—evacuated.
"They have a safe room in the basement," Dominic whispered, pressing his back against the wall.
They descended the concrete stairs. The heavy steel door of the basement safe room was blown wide open. The hinges were warped from a thermal charge.
Dominic stepped inside. The room was empty.
A ragged, agonizing sound tore from the mob boss's throat. It was the sound of a man watching his heart get ripped out. He dropped his gun, sinking to his knees in the center of the small, windowless room. He picked up a small, worn plush dinosaur from the floor, clutching it in his massive, scarred hands.
"They took him," Dominic whispered, tears mingling with the rain and soot on his face. "My uncle took him. I'm too late."
Iris stood in the doorway, her chest aching. She had lost her shop tonight, but looking at Dominic, she realized he had lost his entire world. The ruthless killer was gone; in his place was just a desperate, broken father figure.
Iris walked into the room. She knelt beside him, hesitating for a moment before placing a gentle hand on his broad, uninjured shoulder.
"We will find him," Iris said firmly.
Dominic shook his head. "You don't know my uncle, Carmine. He vanishes people. He has dozens of warehouses, docks, chop shops..."
Iris looked around the blasted room, her tailor's eyes naturally scanning for details. Something caught her attention near the blown hinges of the door. A jagged piece of metal had snagged a scrap of fabric when the kidnappers rushed in.
She stood up and carefully unhooked the fabric. It was a three-inch strip of dark navy wool.
Iris rubbed the fabric between her sensitive fingertips. Her eyes widened.
"Dominic," she said, her voice trembling. "Feel this."
She handed him the scrap. He frowned, confused. "It's just wool."
"No, it isn't," Iris said, her heart racing. "It's a custom vicuña blend. Highly illegal to import. Only one mill in Chicago works with this specific, heavy warp because it requires an antique loom."
Dominic looked up at her, the predator slowly waking back up in his eyes. "Where?"
"The old abandoned textile mill on the South Side," Iris said. "My father used to work there before he disappeared fifteen years ago."
Dominic stood up, his massive frame radiating lethal intent. "Can you get us inside without tripping the alarms?"
"Yes," Iris said.
But as she looked closer at the scrap of fabric in the dim light, she saw a microscopic tag sewn into the hem. Her blood turned to ice.
May you like
It was a maker's mark. Two interlocking letter 'B's.
It wasn't just a suit from the mill. It was a suit sewn by her missing father.
