Chapter 9 - THE MISSION AT MIDNIGHT
By 1:00 AM, the rain had stopped, leaving the Chicago streets slick and reflective under neon lights.
Roman’s armored SUV pulled up behind the alleyway of Laura bistro.
The restaurant was dark, quiet, and closed for renovations following David Kesler’s abrupt firing.
“I’m coming with you,” I insisted as Roman checked his sidearm.
“Megan, no,” Roman shook his head.
“It’s too dangerous.”
“David knows me,” I argued, unbuckling my seatbelt.
“He’ll open the back service door for me without calling the police.”
“If Victor has people watching this place, you’ll walk right into a trap.”
“Then we go together,” I said, meeting his gaze with absolute defiance.
“You taught me that survival means standing your ground.”
Roman studied my face for three long seconds.
Then he sighed, a mixture of exasperation and deep affection.
“Stay directly behind me,” he ordered, handing me a small, suppressed pistol.
“Do you know how to use this?”
“My father was a Chicago police officer,” I whispered, sliding the safety off with practiced ease.
May you like
“I know how to shoot.”
We slipped through the rusted alley gate, stepping silently across the pavement where Roman had bled out just a week ago.
