THE TAILOR AND THE MONSTER

The rain had stopped by the time the rusted Volvo pulled into the overgrown lot of the abandoned South Side textile mill. The massive brick structure loomed against the night sky like a decaying fortress.

Iris killed the headlights, parking behind a rusted dumpster.

"My father disappeared when I was twenty," Iris whispered into the dark car, staring at the imposing building. "He said he was going to buy new silks in New York. He never came back. My grandfather told me he died."

Dominic was loading a fresh magazine into his pistol. He stopped, looking at her in the dim light of the dashboard. "In my world, people don't just disappear, Iris. They run, or they hide."

"He was wearing that gold money clip," Iris realized, a sickening wave of nausea washing over her. "The one you pulled off Marcus. My father didn't die. He's working for your uncle."

"And he's the one who rigged my jacket," Dominic finished quietly. "He used his family's shop as the drop. He knew your grandfather owed my uncle, and he used it."

Iris buried her face in her hands. The betrayal was absolute. Her own flesh and blood had nearly killed her tonight, burned her legacy to the ground, and kidnapped a six-year-old boy.

"Iris," Dominic’s large, calloused hand gently grasped hers, pulling it away from her face. His touch was shockingly warm. "Your father's sins are not yours. You saved my life tonight. Now, I need you to help me save Leo's. Can you get me in?"

Iris looked at the man she had been terrified of just hours ago. Now, he was her only anchor. She nodded.

They moved through the shadows. Iris led him to the old loading docks. "The main doors are wired," she whispered, pointing to a rusted grate near the foundation. "But the old dye-drainage tunnels run right under the main floor. I used to play in them when I was little."

Dominic grunted, grabbing the heavy iron grate and tearing it out of the brickwork with raw, agonizing force. He ushered her inside, following close behind.

The tunnel was cramped, smelling of mildew and old chemicals. They crawled for what felt like miles until Iris stopped beneath a heavy iron grate that opened into the main factory floor.

Through the slats, they could see the sprawling expanse of the mill. It wasn't abandoned. High-end floodlights illuminated a dozen armed men patrolling the catwalks.

In the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair, was little Leo. The boy was crying silently, his small face bruised.

Standing over him was a man with slicked-back silver hair, holding a lit cigar. Carmine Cavalli.

And standing right next to Carmine, adjusting the cuffs of a bespoke navy vicuña suit, was Iris’s father, Arthur Bellamy.

"He's beautiful, Arthur," Carmine chuckled, blowing smoke into Leo's face. "The boy will make a perfect heir once Dominic's body is found in the ashes of your daughter's shop."

Arthur looked away, guilt flashing across his aged face, but he didn't intervene.

Under the grate, Dominic’s entire body tensed, preparing to burst through the iron and slaughter them all.

"Wait," Iris grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Look at the support pillars."

Dominic squinted. Strapped to the four main structural pillars of the room were thick bricks of C4, wired to a digital detonator resting on the table next to Carmine.

"If you go up there, Carmine hits that button, and the roof crushes Leo," Iris whispered, panic rising in her throat.