Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF AN ORPHAN
The rain hammered against the hood of Julian's car.
I could hear the water dripping from the brim of his fedora.
"Julian," I whispered.
My throat felt like it was coated in sand.
"You're supposed to be in Atlanta."
Julian smiled.
It was the same slick, hollow smile he had worn at Mark’s funeral.
"Atlanta is boring, Megan."
"Chicago is where the money is."
His gun barrel didn't waver from my forehead.
Then his eyes drifted to the man leaning against my shoulder.
Julian’s smile tightened into something ugly and nervous.
"Roman Vance."
"The phantom of the North Side."
"I have to admit, I didn't expect you to survive the alley behind the bakery."
"You paid the hitters with bounced cashier's checks, Julian," Roman said.
His voice was dead calm.
He didn't lift his hands.
He didn't step back.
"They used a kitchen utility knife instead of a clean piece."
"Amateurs."
"It was enough to slow you down," Julian sneered.
He took half a step forward on the wet pavement.
"Step away from her, Vance."
"This is personal family business."
"She has no family connected to you, Julian," I said.
My fingers dug through the wool of Roman's coat.
"You stole Mark's life insurance."
"You left me with ninety-two dollars and a two-year-old child."
"Mark was a thief, Megan!" Julian spat.
"Your sweet, honest husband stole forty million dollars in bearer bonds from the syndicate vault before he died!"
The words hit me like a physical slap.
Forty million dollars.
Mark was a low-level dispatcher for an interstate freight company.
He drove a ten-year-old Honda Civic with a broken heater.
"You're lying," I choked out.
"Ask your new protector," Julian laughed.
Julian pointed the gun toward Roman's chest.
"Ask Roman whose vault Mark cracked four years ago."
I turned my head.
I looked at Roman's pale, blood-smeared face.
Roman did not deny it.
He kept his gray eyes locked on Julian's weapon.
"Mark was an architect, Megan," Roman said softly.
"He designed the security infrastructure for my private holdings."
"He didn't steal the bonds for greed."
"He stole them because Julian was holding a gun to your pregnancy scans."
The world seemed to spin beneath my wet shoes.
The rain felt warm, almost suffocating.
Mark hadn't died in a random carjacking outside a bakery.
He had been executed because he had hidden the bonds where Julian couldn't find them.
"Where are they, Megan?" Julian demanded, his voice rising in panic.
"The bonds were registered to an offshore escrow key."
"Mark left the key in your name."
"I don't have a key!" I cried.
"I don't have anything!"
"Look at the apartment window, Megan," Julian said, his eyes glittering with malice.
I looked up.
On the third floor, behind the lace curtains, the light was still on.
A dark shadow moved against the glass.
A man in a ski mask was standing inside the room.
And in his arms, wrapped in his blue flannel dinosaur blanket, was my five-year-old son.
Leo wasn't moving.
His little head was slumped against the intruder's shoulder.
"Leo!" I screamed, lunging forward.
Julian brought the butt of his pistol around, striking Roman across his wounded ribs with sickening force.
Roman collapsed to his knees on the asphalt, coughing up dark crimson.
Julian grabbed my hair, yanking my head back until my neck burned.
The cold steel of his barrel pressed hard under my jaw.
"The safety deposit box in the Loop, Megan," Julian hissed into my ear.
May you like
"You have forty minutes to open it."
"Or my man drops your sick little boy off that fire escape into the alley."
