Chapter 7 - PIER 18
The Calumet River smelled of diesel, dead fish, and rusted iron.
Warehouse 4 at Pier 18 stood like a hulking black beast against the storm.
Rain hammered against the corrugated steel siding with the fury of machine-gun fire.
Olivia drove the white delivery van through the rusted chain-link gates.
The headlights cut through the swirling fog, illuminating stacks of weathered wooden pallets and rotting shipping crates.
Gabriel sat in the passenger seat, his black wool coat buttoned to the throat.
His hands rested calmly on his knees.
Beside him on the floor sat Nero, completely silent, watching the dark through the windshield.
"Park near the loading bay," Gabriel said softly.
Olivia pulled the wheel, easing the van to a halt forty feet from the massive roll-up doors.
She cut the engine.
The silence rushed in, broken only by the deafening rhythm of the rain.
"Breathe, Olivia," Gabriel murmured.
His hand reached over, resting gently on the back of her neck.
His touch was warm against her cold skin.
"Remember what I told you."
"Eyes on Lily," she whispered, her fingers curling around the pistol in her pocket.
"Nothing else matters."
The heavy roll-up door rattled upward on rusted iron chains.
Yellow halogen lights flickered to life inside the warehouse.
Two armed men in rain slickers stepped out onto the concrete apron, waving them inside.
Gabriel opened his door.
"Stay behind me until you see her."
They stepped into the cavernous warehouse.
The air was freezing, thick with the smell of wet cement and damp cardboard.
In the center of the concrete floor sat a single wooden chair beneath a hanging industrial lightbulb.
Sitting on the chair, wrapped in an oversized green blanket, was Lily.
Her little face was pale, tear-stained, and smudged with dust.
Beside the chair stood Victor Moretti.
He was sixty, heavy-set, with slicked-back white hair and a cigar clamped between his teeth.
Flanking him were six men armed with semi-automatic rifles.
Elena Rossi-Duca stood on a raised iron catwalk twenty feet above, leaning over the safety rail like an empress watching an arena.
Lily saw Olivia.
"Mommy!" the little girl cried, struggling against the rope binding her small wrists to the chair arms.
"Mommy!"
Every maternal instinct in Olivia’s body screamed to run.
She took one frantic step forward.
Gabriel caught her by the shoulder, holding her back with immovable strength.
"Not yet," he whispered.
Victor Moretti laughed, blowing a cloud of gray smoke into the damp air.
"Look at this," Moretti boomed, his voice echoing off the corrugated roof.
"The great Gabriel Duca, playing delivery boy for a maid."
Moretti tapped the ash from his cigar onto the concrete floor.
"Did you bring the book, Gabriel?"
Gabriel reached inside his coat and produced the leather-bound ledger.
He held it up in the yellow light.
Elena leaned further over the railing, her eyes greedy.
"Throw it over," Elena shouted from above.
"Cut the child loose first," Gabriel replied.
His voice was terrifyingly calm, cutting through the cavernous space.
"You don't dictate terms here, Duca," Moretti sneered, drawing a heavy revolver from his belt.
He pressed the cold barrel directly against Lily’s temple.
Lily whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.
Olivia’s heart stopped beating.
The world went silent.
"Put the book on the floor and kick it over," Moretti ordered, his thumb pulling back the hammer with a sharp metallic click.
"Or I paint this floor with her."
Gabriel looked at Moretti.
Then his eyes drifted toward the dark rafters above the catwalk.
"You forgot one detail, Victor," Gabriel said softly.
"What detail, you arrogant bastard?!"
Gabriel’s lips curved into a cold, terrifying smile.
"Nero wasn't in the van when I stepped out."
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A massive black shadow dropped from the upper mezzanine directly behind the catwalk.
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