Chapter 6 - A Broken Fortress
The black three-vehicle convoy cut through the slush and gray sleet of South Chicago.
I sat in the reinforced rear passenger seat of the central armored Suburban, holding Lily’s hand. Gabriel sat across from us, an encrypted satellite phone pressed to his ear, his voice spitting sharp, tactical orders to his capos across the city.
“Secure the Bellini warehouse on 12th Street,” Gabriel ordered. “Nobody leaves. If Salvatore Bellini calls for reinforcements, route the calls to our switchboard. Do not engage until I verify the ledger.”
He ended the call and glanced out the tinted, ballistic-glass window.
In the lead vehicle, Dante was driving with Vanessa handcuffed in the passenger seat. In our vehicle, the atmosphere was taut as a tripwire. Gabriel’s hand never strayed more than two inches from the custom .45 tucked inside his coat.
“The storage facility is off 47th,” I said, pointing toward a rusted, chain-link fence surrounding rows of corrugated green storage lockers beneath the shadow of an elevated train track. “Locker 114. Daniel paid the lease under the name David Miller.”
Gabriel nodded to his driver. “Pull inside. Keep the engines running. Watch the elevated tracks.”
The three black SUVs rolled through the rusted iron gate of the self-storage yard. The area was deserted, save for patches of dirty, melting snow and the occasional screech of the train overhead.
As the vehicles came to a stop in front of Unit 114, Dante stepped out of the lead SUV, pulling Vanessa out by her upper arm. She was shivering in the bitter wind, her bare arms mottled blue, her high heels catching in the gravel.
“Gabriel!” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “My father knows where this facility is! He’s tracking my phone’s last ping! You walked right into a trap!”
Gabriel stepped out into the frigid air, not even flinching against the biting wind. “Your phone was destroyed three hours ago, Vanessa. The only ping your father is tracking is the decoy vehicle heading toward O’Hare Airport.”
He opened the car door for me and Lily. “Stay behind me, Rachel.”
I led Gabriel to the rusted steel door of Unit 114. The padlock was thick, oxidized with salt and rain. Gabriel reached into his coat, pulled out a pair of heavy bolt-cutters from the vehicle’s trunk, and with a single brutal squeeze of his forearms, snapped the hardened steel shackle like a dry twig.
The metal door rattled loudly as he rolled it upward, revealing a dusty, damp eight-by-ten space filled with cobwebs, water-damaged cardboard boxes, and old furniture from our first apartment.
Lily slipped out from behind my coat, pointing toward a plastic milk crate sitting on a shelf in the back. “There it is! Mommy, the music box!”
Gabriel stepped inside first, his gun drawn in his right hand, sweeping the corners before motioning us forward.
I reached into the crate and pulled out the small, hand-carved mahogany box. It was slightly warped from humidity, but the brass hinges were intact. On the lid, Daniel had carved a delicate white carnation and Lily’s name in flowing script.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I handed the box to Gabriel.
Gabriel turned the small brass key on the side. The faint, sweet chime of *Claire de Lune* echoed through the hollow storage unit. Lily smiled, clapping her hands softly.
Gabriel examined the bottom of the box. Using the tip of his tactical knife, he pried open the false cedar base.
Inside sat a heavy, encrypted black flash drive and three folded pages of paper covered in Daniel’s familiar, tight handwriting.
Gabriel unfolded the papers. As he read the first few sentences, his jaw clenched so violently the tendons in his neck stood out like steel cords.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“It’s not just shipping manifests,” Gabriel whispered, his voice trembling with pure fury. “It’s a hit contract. Signed by Salvatore Bellini and witnessed by Marco Moretti. Daniel didn't just stumble onto their weapons shipment... he intercepted the wire transfer they paid to the hit team that attacked us at the shipyard.”
He looked up, his eyes burning with lethal certainty. “They paid my own cousin two million dollars to ensure I didn't walk out of that warehouse alive. Daniel took the bullets that were bought and paid for by the woman I was supposed to marry.”
Suddenly, the screech of tires tore through the storage yard.
May you like
“Boss!” Dante’s roar echoed from outside, followed immediately by the deafening crack of automatic gunfire.
***
