Chapter 7 - THE FERRY TICKET IN THE PINK COAT
“Fifteen minutes,” Dominic said.
He grabbed my waist and hoisted me off the platform, carrying me through the freezing water so I wouldn’t have to put weight on my bleeding foot.
“Elena is leaving the country,” Dominic said as we burst out of the boathouse and into the rain. “She’s using Lily as a human shield to get past the port authority. If she gets on that boat, she disappears forever.”
“We’ll never make it in fifteen minutes,” I cried. “Navy Pier is twenty miles away!”
“We will,” Dominic promised.
We reached the private garage behind the estate. Dominic bypassed his luxury sedans and headed straight for a sleek, black sports car hidden under a tarp.
He threw me the keys. “Get in. I need a minute.”
I climbed into the passenger seat, shivering violently, clutching Lily’s pink coat.
Dominic opened the trunk. He tossed the assault rifle inside and pulled out a heavy tactical vest and two handguns.
He wasn’t just a businessman tonight. He was going to war.
He slid into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life with a deafening growl.
Dominic slammed the car into gear. We tore out of the garage, drifting onto the private access road, tires screaming against the wet asphalt.
We hit the highway doing 110 miles per hour.
The city lights blurred past us in streaks of gold and neon.
Dominic kept one hand on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He reached over with his right hand and gently placed it over mine.
His hand was warm. Solid.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said quietly, the engine roaring around us.
“For what?”
“For failing your mother. For letting Elena anywhere near your daughter. You came into my house just trying to survive, and I put you right in the crosshairs.”
I looked at his profile. The harsh lines of his jaw. The intensity in his eyes.
“You didn’t do this, Dominic,” I said, my voice steady despite the speed of the car. “Elena did. You’re the one trying to fix it.”
Dominic tightened his grip on my hand.
“If we get her back tonight,” Dominic vowed, his voice dropping into a solemn oath, “I swear on my life, nobody will ever hurt you or your daughter again. You will never have to be invisible again.”
My heart swelled. For ten years, I had been running. Hiding. Fighting every battle entirely alone.
For the first time, I felt like someone was standing in front of me.
“10:55 PM,” I said, looking at the dashboard clock.
“Hold on.”
Dominic swerved off the highway exit, sliding through a red light, expertly dodging a delivery truck before slamming the accelerator again.
The massive Ferris wheel of Navy Pier loomed in the distance, illuminated against the stormy sky.
We tore through the service entrance of the pier, bypassing the security gates, the car skidding to a halt near the private charter docks.
The rain was pouring in sheets.
I threw my door open and stumbled out.
At the end of Pier 4, a sleek, private yacht was idling, its engines churning the dark water.
And standing on the edge of the pier, surrounded by four armed men, was a tall, striking woman in a white trench coat.
Elena Valenti.
She was holding an umbrella.
And she was holding a little girl with blonde hair tightly by the hand.
“Lily!” I screamed, running forward, ignoring the agonizing pain in my foot.
Lily’s head snapped up. Even from a distance, I could see the sheer terror in her eyes.
“Mommy!”
I tried to run to her, but Dominic grabbed my waist, pulling me behind the steel cover of a shipping container just as the four armed men raised their weapons.
Elena didn’t look panicked. She looked entirely calm.
She wasn’t boarding the boat.
Instead, a man in a dark suit walked down the ramp from the yacht.
Elena leaned down, whispered something in Lily’s ear, and then handed my daughter’s hand to the man.
He wasn’t a guard.
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I recognized his face from the newspapers.
It was Viktor Volkov. The head of the rival Russian syndicate.
