Chapter 2 - A Deal Made Before Dawn
Dominic’s car waited behind the laundromat with its lights off.
It was a black armored sedan, the kind that looked expensive enough to have secrets built into the doors. Two men guarded it, both wearing dark coats and expressions that warned strangers not to ask questions.
Vincent pointed toward the passenger seat.
“You’re going home with Dominic’s men.”
“I don’t think you understand what ‘my fight’ means.”
“I understand perfectly. I’m choosing to ignore it.”
“You need someone to watch that wound.”
“I have doctors.”
“Where were they when you got shot?”
Dominic hid a smile.
Vincent gave him a cold look. “Something amusing?”
“Nothing at all.”
I folded my arms. “Rourke thinks I’m harmless. That gives me an advantage.”
“You’re a civilian.”
“I’m a baker.”
“Exactly.”
“You say that like bakers don’t work with fire, knives, industrial machinery, boiling sugar, and customers who insist gluten is a government conspiracy.”
Dominic opened the rear door.
“Let her come.”
Vincent stared at him.
“She got you out of the alley,” Dominic said. “And Rourke saw her. Sending her home alone would be more dangerous.”
Vincent looked ready to argue, but another wave of pain crossed his face.
“Fine,” he said. “She stays in the car.”
“Of course,” I replied.
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
“Not even slightly.”
We drove to an old brick building near the river. The faded sign above the entrance read COSTELLO IMPORTS, although no legitimate imports seemed to have passed through it in decades.
Inside, armed men hurried through corridors while phones rang continuously.
The room changed when Vincent entered.
Everyone straightened.
Some looked relieved. Others looked frightened.
One man stepped forward. “Mr. Costello, we thought—”
“Who told Rourke my route?”
The man fell silent.
Vincent leaned on Dominic but somehow still commanded the room.
“Six people knew,” he continued. “Dominic was with me. Elena was taken. That leaves four.”
Four men exchanged uneasy glances.
Vincent pointed at them. “Separate rooms. No phones. Nobody leaves.”
One of them protested. “You think one of us betrayed you?”
“I know one of you did.”
“I’ve worked for your family twenty years.”
“Then you should know not to waste time defending yourself.”
Two guards escorted the men away.
A woman in navy scrubs rushed toward us carrying a medical bag.
“Vincent!”
“Dr. Shah, this is—” He glanced at me.
“Rosa Russo.”
“The baker,” Dominic added.
Dr. Shah looked at my flour-covered shirt, the blood on my pants, and Vincent’s wounded leg.
“I’m going to need a longer explanation.”
“You’ll get a shorter one,” Vincent said. “Remove the bullet.”
She led him into a back room.
Vincent stopped in the doorway and looked at me.
“Stay here.”
I gave him an innocent smile.
He turned to Dominic. “Watch her.”
“I’m standing right here,” I said.
The door closed.
Dominic took out his phone. “I need to contact our people at the pier.”
“Tell me about Elena.”
He hesitated.
“She’s Vincent’s younger sister. Thirty-one. Runs a literacy foundation and avoids the family business whenever possible.”
“Why would Rourke target her?”
“Because she’s the one person Vincent would burn down Chicago to protect.”
“What happened to their parents?”
“Their father was killed when Vincent was twenty-four. Their mother died a few years later.”
“And Vincent took over?”
“He kept the family alive.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Dominic studied me.
“No,” he said quietly. “But it’s the answer that matters.”
A laptop sat open on a nearby table, displaying maps of the harbor. I moved closer.
“Which building is Pier Nineteen?”
“This warehouse.”
“How many entrances?”
“Three we know about.”
“And the river side?”
“Loading doors. Too exposed.”
I looked at the neighboring structures.
“What’s here?”
“An abandoned commercial kitchen.”
“Kitchen?”
“Used to supply meals to riverboats.”
I enlarged the map. A service line ran beneath the street between the commercial kitchen and the pier warehouse.
“That’s a gas main.”
Dominic’s expression sharpened. “How do you know?”
“Old bakeries and large kitchens need high-capacity gas lines. See the double regulator marking?”
“You understand utility maps?”
“My father rebuilt our ovens himself. He taught me enough to avoid killing the neighborhood.”
Dr. Shah opened the door.
“He’s ready,” she said, sounding irritated. “Against every piece of medical advice I possess.”
Vincent emerged wearing black trousers and a clean white shirt. A thick bandage covered his thigh beneath the fabric.
His face was pale, but his posture was straight.
“The bullet passed through muscle,” Dr. Shah said. “He needs rest, antibiotics, and absolutely no gunfights.”
Vincent picked up a jacket.
“I can guarantee one of those.”
“No,” she snapped. “You can’t.”
He turned to Dominic. “Did Rourke call again?”
“Twenty minutes ago. He wants you alone with the ledger.”
“He won’t expect that.”
“He also won’t believe it.”
Vincent looked at the map. “We enter from the north. Two teams cover the east and west exits.”
I pointed to the gas line.
“There’s another way.”
His eyebrows rose. “You were told to stay here.”
“I did. While staying here, I found a service tunnel.”
Dominic showed him the map.
Vincent examined it.
“The tunnel could bring us beneath the warehouse,” I said. “There’s probably an access hatch near the old boiler room.”
“Us?” Vincent asked.
“People always underestimate food-service workers.”
“Rourke has hostages and automatic weapons.”
“So did the men in the alley.”
“That trick won’t work twice.”
“I have more than one trick.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You saved my life. I will never forget that. But I won’t repay you by letting you die.”
“You’re not letting me do anything.”
“Do you argue with everyone?”
“Only men who confuse protection with control.”
Dominic looked away, suddenly interested in the ceiling.
Vincent lowered his voice. “Rourke will use you against me.”
“Why would he think I matter to you?”
His gaze stayed on mine a second too long.
“Because he saw what happened in the alley.”
“He saw me drag you through a door.”
“He saw me trust you.”
The room became very quiet.
Vincent looked back at the map.
“You stay behind the first team. At the first sign of danger, you leave.”
“Agreed.”
“You’re lying again.”
“I’m beginning to think you respect me for it.”
“I’m beginning to regret surviving.”
Before we left, I called my father.
He answered on the sixth ring.
“Rosa? Do you know what time it is?”
“Are you still in Milwaukee?”
“Yes. Your aunt made lasagna. It tastes like wallpaper paste, so naturally she gave me three servings.”
“Stay there tomorrow.”
He became alert immediately. “What happened?”
“A water pipe burst at the bakery.”
“You sound strange.”
“I’m tired.”
“Rosa.”
My father had a way of saying my name that made lying feel like disappointing a priest.
“I’m handling it,” I said.
“Handling what?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow.”
“Is this about those people behind the bakery?”
I froze. “What people?”
“Mrs. Alvarez called. She heard gunshots.”
“Dad, listen to me. Stay in Milwaukee until I call.”
“Are you in danger?”
I looked across the room at Vincent.
“Yes.”
My father went silent.
“Call the police.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because some of the police may be involved.”
Another silence.
Then he sighed. “Your mother always said you’d run toward a fire just to complain about the temperature.”
“I miss her.”
“Come home alive, Rosa.”
“I will.”
“You swear?”
I looked at the guns being loaded around me.
“I swear.”
We drove toward the pier in two vehicles. I sat beside Vincent in the rear of the armored sedan.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t guarantee.”
“You heard that?”
“The whole building heard your father.”
“He was a theater actor before he became a baker.”
“That explains your flair for dramatic entrances.”
I looked at his wounded leg. “How bad is the pain?”
“Manageable.”
“That means terrible.”
“It means manageable.”
“You’re sweating.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“It’s February.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“What?” I asked.
“Most people don’t speak to me this way.”
“That sounds like their problem.”
“It usually becomes one.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
“Good. I charge extra for threatening customers.”
His smile disappeared as the pier came into view.
The warehouse stood beside the black river, surrounded by shipping containers and rusted cranes. Fog rolled across the water.
Dominic’s voice came through the radio.
“Two guards on the north entrance. Three on the roof. No sign of Elena.”
Vincent checked his weapon.
“Rourke will have more inside.”
The sedan stopped behind the abandoned kitchen.
We entered through a broken loading door. Rusted ovens and steel counters filled the dark interior.
I found the old utility room at the rear.
A narrow maintenance hatch stood behind the gas regulators.
Dominic’s men forced it open.
A ladder descended into darkness.
Vincent looked at me. “This is where you stay.”
“I thought I stayed behind the first team.”
“You’ve come close enough.”
Before I could answer, every radio crackled.
Then Elena’s voice filled the channel.
“Vincent, don’t come inside!”
A man shouted.
The transmission ended with the sound of a slap.
Vincent’s expression turned lethal.
Rourke’s voice replaced hers.
“Five minutes, Vincent. Bring the evidence or your sister goes into the river.”
Vincent stepped onto the ladder.
Dominic caught his arm.
“You can’t go in alone.”
“He’ll kill her.”
“He’ll kill her anyway.”
Vincent grabbed Dominic by the collar.
“Then give me another choice.”
I looked at the gas regulators.
Then at the bakery-sized ventilation ducts running toward the warehouse.
“I have one,” I said.
Vincent released Dominic.
“It had better be good.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“So was your lighter.”
“This is worse.”
“How much worse?”
May you like
I picked up an old wrench.
“Depends on how much Rourke enjoys breathing.”
