Chapter 3 - The Missing Boy
The rain fell like needles through the fire escape grate.
Chicago’s winter wind bit through my thin server apron.
Danny scrambled down the rusted iron steps beneath me.
His sneakers slipped on the wet metal.
Behind us, Salvatore’s guards traded gunfire with shadows in the alley below.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the brick alleyway like jagged strobe lights.
Salvatore moved with terrifying, fluid economy.
He fired twice down into the dark.
A man behind a green dumpster collapsed into the trash without a sound.
Salvatore gripped my shoulder, steering me toward the bottom ladder.
He lowered the drop-ladder with his boot.
“Run to the black car,” he signed with urgent precision.
“Do not look back.”
Danny hit the ground first.
I leaped down right behind him, rolling onto the wet gravel.
The driver held the heavy rear door wide open.
We dove inside onto the floorboards.
A split second later, Salvatore slid in beside us, slamming the door shut.
Bullets pinged against the armored glass like angry hail.
Spiderweb cracks blossomed on the outer pane, but the glass held firm.
The driver slammed the gas pedal.
The tires screamed against wet pavement, throwing us back against the seats.
Danny was shaking so hard his teeth clicked together.
“Maya... who are these people?” Danny sobbed into my soaked sleeve.
“Why are they shooting at us?”
I couldn't answer.
I couldn't find a single rational lie to tell him.
Salvatore pulled a clean linen handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into
Danny’s hand.
“Breathe,” Salvatore signed calmly to the boy.
“You are safe now.”
Salvatore turned his head toward me.
His gray eyes were ablaze with cold, lethal calculation.
He checked the magazine of his pistol, his jaw tight.
“Brett set this up,” he signed.
“He copied your home address from the Bellamy’s employee files.”
“Why?” I whispered, trembling.
“Carmine wants the docks,” Salvatore signed.
“I control the shipping terminals on the lake.”
“Carmine needed leverage to force me into signing the lease over.”
“They assumed you were my mistress.”
I stared at him, incredulous.
“I served you soup one time!” I signed back, my hands trembling with rage.
“I don't even know you!”
One corner of Salvatore’s mouth lifted in a bitter, melancholic line.
“In our world, Maya, nobody talks to me.”
“Nobody looks me in the eyes for thirty minutes.”
“When I sat with you and spoke in silence, Carmine’s spies thought I found
someone precious.”
“To them, anyone I protect is a weapon against me.”
We crossed the river, heading north toward the Gold Coast.
The rusted brick buildings gave way to gleaming glass skyscrapers and iron
gates.
The car pulled into a private underground garage beneath a towering fortress of
stone.
Three heavy steel security gates lowered behind us with echoing thuds.
We were ushered into a private elevator that required a biometric fingerprint
scan.
The doors opened directly into a sprawling, two-story penthouse.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Lake Michigan.
The furniture was minimalist, dark, and utterly silent.
Danny stared in awe at the sheer size of the room.
Salvatore waved two maids forward.
“Take the boy. Warm clothes. Hot food. Clean room,” he signed to them.
The maids nodded respectfully, communicating with fluid gestures.
The entire household staff knew sign language.
Danny looked back at me hesitatingly.
“Go on, Danny,” I said gently, squeezing his pale hand. “I’ll be right here.”
He followed the maids down the long marble corridor.
Once we were alone in the vast living room, the silence became suffocating.
Salvatore unbuttoned his soaked jacket and tossed it onto a leather couch.
A dark red patch of blood had soaked through the left shoulder of his white
dress shirt.
My breath hitched.
“You’re hit,” I whispered.
He didn't hear, but he saw my eyes dart to his shoulder.
He glanced down, dismissing the wound with a careless shrug.
“A graze,” he signed.
“Sit down,” I signed firmly, pointing to the sofa.
He raised an eyebrow, amused by my sudden audacity.
“Sit,” I repeated, glaring at him.
He sat.
I grabbed a silver first-aid kit from the wall recess where one of his guards
had left it.
I tore open the cotton gauze and antiseptic.
I peeled the bloody fabric back from his shoulder.
A deep furrow was carved into the thick muscle of his deltoid.
Fresh blood trickled down his pale, corded arm.
I pressed the antiseptic swab against the raw flesh.
Salvatore’s entire body tensed like coiled steel, but he did not make a single
sound.
His gaze remained locked on my face.
He was studying every flutter of my eyelashes, every nervous swallow.
“Why didn't you let them take me?” I asked softly as I wrapped the clean white
bandage.
“You could have walked away. You don't owe me anything.”
He waited until I tied off the bandage.
Then he lifted his hands, his fingers brushing near mine.
“For fifteen years, Maya, I have been invisible.”
“Men smile at me while whispering insults under their breath.”
“They think because I cannot hear, I am half an animal.”
“Last Thursday, you didn't pity me.”
“You spoke to me as an equal.”
“I will burn this entire city to the ground before I let them touch you.”
A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold rain.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently on the glass table.
It was an unknown number.
A video file had been sent.
I tapped the screen with trembling fingers.
The grainy footage showed the back alley behind Bellamy’s.
Brett was standing under the yellow halogen light.
Beside him stood Carla, holding a folder containing Danny’s medical records.
Brett looked directly into the camera lens, holding up a small black detonator.
He spoke to the camera.
The audio was muffled, but Salvatore was reading Brett’s lips instantly.
Salvatore’s face turned into an expression of unadulterated murder.
He grabbed my arm, his grip crushing.
“What did he say?” I signed in terror.
Salvatore looked at me with dead, terrifying eyes.
“He said they planted a second bomb.”
May you like
“Not at your apartment.”
“Inside the car we just arrived in.”
