Chapter 6 - THE BETRAYAL
Silence descended on the room, thick and suffocating.
I stood frozen, the glass of water slipping from my numb fingers. It shattered on the hardwood floor, the crash deafening.
Lorenzo didn’t flinch. His rifle remained perfectly leveled at Marco’s head.
"Twelve years, Marco," Lorenzo said, his voice a dangerous, silky whisper. "You ate at my mother’s table. You carried my father’s casket."
"And I’ve spent the last five years cleaning up your messes while you obsessed over a ghost!" Marco snapped, taking a step into the room. "The Vanes have the judges. They have the mayor. You can’t beat them, Enzo. Put the gun down. Give me the key, and I’ll let you walk out of here."
"You and I both know that’s a lie," Lorenzo said calmly.
"Don't do this, Enzo. I don't want to kill you."
"Then you shouldn't have missed your window," Lorenzo said.
Before Marco could process the words, Lorenzo kicked the heavy oak coffee table directly at Marco’s shins.
Gunfire erupted. The sound was deafening in the small room. I screamed, dropping to the floor. Plaster rained down on my head as bullets shredded the wall behind me.
Through the dust, I saw Lorenzo lunge. He didn’t shoot; he closed the distance, slamming into Marco. The two men crashed through the drywall into the kitchen. Pots and pans clattered. A sickening crunch echoed through the apartment.
I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding in my throat. "Lorenzo!"
Lorenzo staggered out of the kitchen. Marco was on the floor behind him, unconscious. But Lorenzo was pressing a hand to his left shoulder. Blood was seeping rapidly between his fingers, staining his crisp white shirt a brilliant, horrifying crimson.
"We have to go," he grunted, grabbing my arm. "Marco tipped them off. They'll be coming up the stairs."
We flew down the back fire escape, the freezing iron biting into my palms. The Chicago snow had started to fall, thick and blinding. We hit the alley just as the screech of tires echoed from the front of the building.
Lorenzo leaned heavily against the brick wall, his face pale under the amber glow of the streetlamp.
"You're bleeding too much," I said, panic rising. I tore off Lorenzo's heavy coat, then ripped my white waitress apron into thick strips. My hands, which had trembled all night, were suddenly steady. I wrapped the fabric tightly over his shoulder, tying a brutal knot.
He hissed in pain, but his eyes never left mine. "You're good at that."
"I've been taking care of myself for a long time," I said quietly, pulling his coat back over his shoulders.
"Not anymore," he whispered.
The words sent a rush of heat through my freezing body. We didn't have time to process it. Shouts echoed from the front of the building.
We moved fast, keeping to the shadows of the alleyways. We ducked into an abandoned, boarded-up Catholic church three blocks away. The sanctuary was dark, cold, and smelled of decaying wood and old incense. Moonlight spilled through a broken stained-glass window, casting shattered colors across the altar.
Lorenzo sat heavily on a front pew, his breathing ragged. He pulled out his burner phone. "Dante. Status."
He paused, a grim smile touching his lips. "Good. Double the guard. No one gets near her."
He hung up and looked at me. "Your aunt is safe. Dante's men are locked down at the facility."
I let out a sob of relief, covering my face. The sheer weight of the night crashed down on me. I felt Lorenzo’s warm hand wrap around my cold ones, gently pulling them away from my face.
"We have the key," he said softly, holding up the tiny brass object. "My father's private bank is three stops away on the Blue Line. We go there. We get the ledger. We give it to the Feds I have on standby, and Celeste spends the rest of her life in a cage."
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I looked at the key. Then I looked at him. "Are you strong enough to make it?"
Lorenzo stood up, his jaw set with a terrifying resolve. "I've waited twelve years for this night, Evelyn. I'd crawl there if I had to."
