Chapter 4 - THE GHOST IN THE LEDGER
Lorenzo froze, his intense gaze shifting from the knife to Evelyn’s tear-streaked face.
"Who was your father?" he demanded, stepping closer, his imposing frame suddenly feeling less like a threat and more like a shield.
"Arthur Carter," Evelyn choked out. "He was a numbers runner. A low-level bookie. They told me he drowned because of bad gambling debts twelve years ago. But I saw the man who came to our apartment that last night. I hid in the closet. I saw that knife on his belt."
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. "Arthur Carter didn't drown. He was my father's best accountant. He hid the family's master ledger before he was murdered."
Evelyn swayed, grabbing the edge of the child's bed to steady herself. Her entire life—the poverty, the freezing Cicero apartment, the agonizing belief that her father had abandoned her for a deck of cards—was a lie. He had been protecting a mob ledger. He was murdered.
"My brother didn't just take Leo to hurt me," Lorenzo realized, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal register. "Leo is the key. The biometric vault where my father stored his most prized possessions… it requires two DNA matches. Mine, and my heir's."
"They need Leo to open the vault," Evelyn said, wiping her eyes, a sudden, fierce anger replacing her fear. "To get the ledger. To get the money."
"And when they have it, they'll kill him." Lorenzo pulled the combat knife from the headboard, folding the child's drawing and slipping it gently into his breast pocket, right over his heart.
Dante’s voice crackled over Lorenzo’s earpiece. "Boss. I pulled the security feeds from the backup server. They took him in a silver van. I tracked the plates. They're heading toward the old Navy Pier warehouses."
"We're on our way," Lorenzo said. He looked at Evelyn. "I am going to get my son. You stay here with Dante. You'll be safe."
"No." Evelyn stood up straight, her chin raised. "The man who took your son is the man who killed my father. I know the Navy Pier tunnels. I used to play in them when my dad ran numbers down there. You go in the front, they’ll see you coming. I can get you in through the old drainage grates. Unseen."
Lorenzo stared at her. For the first time all night, admiration flickered in his dark eyes. He stripped off his ruined suit jacket, revealing a black tactical vest underneath, and handed her a spare heavy wool coat from the hallway closet.
"Put this on. Keep your head down," he ordered.
Twenty minutes later, they were trudging through a foot of freezing muck beneath the rotting docks of the pier. The smell of salt and decay was overwhelming. Evelyn led the way, navigating the pitch-black tunnels with a flashlight wrapped in a red rag to dim the beam.
They reached a rusted iron grate leading up into the sub-basement of Warehouse 4. Lorenzo shoved it open with a grunt of exertion. He pulled Evelyn up, his hands strong and warm against the freezing cold.
They crept up a concrete stairwell, the sound of muffled voices echoing above them. Lorenzo held up a fist. Stop.
Evelyn peered around Lorenzo's broad shoulder. In the center of the massive, floodlit warehouse, Celeste Vane stood shivering in her emerald gown. But she wasn't giving orders.
She was tied to a chair, her face bruised, sobbing.
"Where is Lorenzo's brother?" Celeste screamed at the shadows. "We had a deal! We were supposed to take the city together!"
A slow, mocking clap echoed from the darkness. A man stepped into the light. He wasn't Lorenzo’s brother. He was older, with silver hair, a tailored suit, and the braided-leather combat knife strapped to his thigh.
Evelyn gasped loudly, stumbling back into a metal shelving unit.
Lorenzo clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The clatter echoed loudly.
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The silver-haired man looked directly at their hiding spot, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Come out, Lorenzo," the man called out. "And bring Arthur Carter's lovely daughter with you. I believe we have family business to conclude."
Evelyn’s blood turned to ice. It was Silas. Lorenzo’s closest mentor. The man who had trained him.
