Chapter 2 - Before the City Woke
Dominic’s armored sedan waited behind the laundromat.
Two armed men guarded it while rain continued falling over the South Side.
Vincent pointed toward another vehicle.
“Dominic’s men will take you somewhere safe.”
I folded my arms.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“You can barely walk.”
“I have doctors.”
“You had twelve armed enemies and no backup. Forgive me for questioning your planning.”
Dominic coughed, poorly hiding his amusement.
Vincent gave him a hard look.
“Do you find this entertaining?”
“Not remotely.”
I stepped closer to Vincent.
“Rourke saw me help you. Sending me home does not make me safe.”
“She’s right,” Dominic said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You rarely do.”
Vincent looked between us, clearly irritated that the only two people available to help him had chosen the same side.
“You remain in the vehicle,” he told me.
“Of course.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m agreeing politely.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It’s the best you’re getting.”
We drove to Costello Imports, a brick warehouse near the river that looked abandoned from the outside.
Inside, it was filled with armed men, security monitors, and ringing phones.
The room changed when Vincent entered.
Conversations stopped.
Every man stood straighter.
One approached quickly.
“Mr. Costello, we thought you were dead.”
Vincent leaned on Dominic but kept his voice level.
“Who knew my route tonight?”
The man hesitated.
“Six people.”
“Names.”
He listed them.
Dominic had been with Vincent. Elena had been kidnapped. That left four men.
Vincent pointed toward the hallway.
“Separate them. Take their phones. Nobody leaves.”
One of the four stepped forward.
“You think one of us betrayed you?”
“I know one of you did.”
“I’ve been loyal for twenty years.”
“Then you should understand why I’m asking.”
“You’re accusing me after everything I’ve done?”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“If you were loyal, the accusation will offend you for one night. If you weren’t, it may save my sister’s life.”
The man had no answer.
Two guards led the suspects away.
A woman in medical scrubs rushed into the room carrying a black bag.
“Vincent!”
“Dr. Shah.”
Her eyes went directly to his leg.
“You need a hospital.”
“No hospitals.”
“You always say that.”
“And you always complain.”
“Because bullets do not respect your reputation.”
She looked at me.
“Who are you?”
“Rosa Russo.”
“The baker,” Dominic said.
Dr. Shah studied the flour on my shirt and blood on my apron.
“I assume there is a story.”
“Later,” Vincent said.
“No. Examination first. Dramatic criminal secrets second.”
She took him into a private room.
Before the door closed, Vincent pointed at Dominic.
“Watch Rosa.”
“I’m standing right here,” I said.
“That is the problem.”
When he disappeared, I moved toward a table covered in maps.
Dominic followed me.
“You really should sit down.”
“I’m not injured.”
“You fell during the escape.”
“I kneel on bakery floors every day.”
“That does not make falling healthy.”
I looked at the map of the waterfront.
“Which building is Pier Nineteen?”
He pointed.
A large warehouse stood beside the river, surrounded by loading platforms and abandoned factories.
“How many entrances?”
“Three on the street. Two loading doors facing the water.”
“What’s next to it?”
“An old commercial kitchen.”
I enlarged the utility map.
A service line connected the kitchen to the warehouse.
“What is that?”
“Gas or water.”
“It’s a high-capacity ventilation and utility tunnel.”
“How can you tell?”
“The double intake marks. Large kitchens needed stronger ventilation than normal buildings.”
Dominic stared at me.
“You understand utility diagrams?”
“My father rebuilt our ovens and ventilation system himself. City permits were expensive.”
“Was any part of your childhood legal?”
“Most birthdays.”
Dr. Shah opened the door.
Vincent emerged wearing clean black trousers and a white shirt. His face was pale, but the blood had been washed away.
“The bullet passed through muscle,” Dr. Shah said. “He needs rest.”
“I need my sister.”
“You also need antibiotics.”
“Give them to Dominic.”
“That is not how medicine works.”
Vincent took a jacket.
Dr. Shah pointed at him.
“If you tear those stitches, I will let you bleed for five full minutes before helping.”
“You say that every time.”
“One day I’ll mean it.”
Vincent approached the map.
“What did you find?”
I pointed to the utility tunnel.
“A possible entrance beneath the neighboring kitchen.”
He examined the markings.
“It could bring us below the warehouse.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re not coming.”
“I found the entrance.”
“That does not make you part of the team.”
“You wouldn’t have a team if I had closed my door.”
His eyes narrowed.
Dominic stepped between us diplomatically.
“Rosa may be useful.”
Vincent looked at him.
“She’s a bakery owner.”
“She noticed fuel twelve armed men missed, created a diversion, moved you through a hidden tunnel, and identified an underground entrance from an old map.”
Dominic shrugged.
“That is already more useful than several people currently on our payroll.”
I tried not to smile.
Vincent sighed.
“You stay behind the first group.”
“Agreed.”
“And at the first sign of gunfire, you leave.”
“Agreed.”
“You don’t mean either promise.”
“I mean them emotionally.”
“That means nothing.”
“Now you’re learning.”
Before we left, I sent another message to my father.
He replied immediately.
ARE YOU SAFE?
I typed:
FOR NOW. STAY IN MILWAUKEE.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
MRS. ALVAREZ SAID THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION BEHIND THE BAKERY.
I looked toward Vincent.
He noticed my expression.
“What?”
“My father’s neighbor heard the fire.”
“Tell him the truth.”
“I’m standing inside a mafia warehouse beside a wounded man preparing to attack a pier. Which part should I begin with?”
“The part where he remains in Milwaukee.”
I called.
My father answered on the first ring.
“Rosa.”
“I’m safe.”
“That was not the sound of a burst pipe.”
“No.”
“Were those gunshots?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you with?”
I looked at Vincent.
His expression told me not to say his name.
“Some people.”
“Good people?”
I hesitated.
Vincent raised one eyebrow.
“Complicated people.”
My father groaned.
“That means criminals.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You inherited your mother’s terrible lying.”
“I’m trying to help someone.”
“At midnight, during a gunfight?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“A man whose sister was kidnapped.”
My father became quieter.
“Are you in danger because of him?”
“I was in danger before I knew his name.”
That was only partly true.
“Come home,” he said.
“I can’t yet.”
“You can always come home.”
“Not while someone is being held.”
“You don’t know her.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I looked around the room at men loading weapons.
“Because nobody should be abandoned just because helping is dangerous.”
My father sighed.
“That is exactly what your mother would have said.”
“I know.”
“Come back alive.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
When I ended the call, Vincent was watching me.
“You make dangerous promises.”
“So do you.”
“I no longer promise anything.”
“That may be why everyone around you looks unhappy.”
For a second, the men, guns, and maps seemed to fade.
His eyes held mine.
Then Dominic interrupted.
“Rourke is calling.”
He activated the speaker.
A man’s voice filled the room.
“Vincent.”
“Let me hear Elena.”
A pause.
Then a woman shouted in the background.
“Vincent, don’t give him anything!”
There was a slap.
Vincent’s face became stone.
Rourke returned.
“Pier Nineteen. Original ledger. You come alone.”
“If she’s hurt—”
“She’s alive. Keep her that way by arriving before four.”
The line ended.
Vincent checked his watch.
Two seventeen.
“Move,” he ordered.
We drove toward the waterfront in two vehicles.
I sat beside Vincent in the back of the armored sedan.
For ten minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, I looked at his leg.
“How bad is the pain?”
“Manageable.”
“That means terrible.”
“It means I can function.”
“You’re sweating.”
“The vehicle is warm.”
“It’s February.”
He looked out the window.
“Most people don’t argue with me.”
“Most people are probably afraid you’ll kill them.”
“I don’t kill people for disagreeing with me.”
“How reassuring.”
“Usually there are additional reasons.”
“That is less reassuring.”
His mouth curved faintly.
I studied him.
“Tell me about Elena.”
“She’s thirty-one. She runs a literacy foundation.”
“She isn’t involved in your organization?”
“No.”
“Does she hate what you do?”
“She hates what it made me.”
“Is she wrong?”
His face tightened.
“No.”
The honesty surprised me.
“What is in the ledger?” I asked.
“Shipping routes. Payments. Names of officers, judges, businessmen, and federal employees protecting Rourke’s trafficking network.”
“People trafficking?”
“Women. Teenagers. Sometimes children.”
My stomach turned.
“And you were going to give it to the government?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Rourke crossed a line.”
“You sound like you have many lines.”
“I had rules.”
“That isn’t the same as being good.”
“No.”
He answered without anger.
“I’m aware.”
The abandoned commercial kitchen stood half a block from Pier Nineteen. Its windows were broken, and rust covered the loading doors.
Dominic’s men entered first.
Inside were old industrial ovens, ventilation ducts, and metal prep stations.
I found the utility hatch behind a row of damaged refrigerators.
The men forced it open.
A ladder descended into darkness.
Vincent looked at me.
“You remain here.”
“I thought I stayed behind the first team.”
“You have come far enough.”
“Your sister is inside.”
“She is my responsibility.”
“She is a person, not a responsibility.”
His jaw tightened.
“You saved me once. That does not require you to keep risking your life.”
“No. I choose that myself.”
Rourke’s voice suddenly crackled over Dominic’s radio.
“Four minutes, Vincent.”
Elena screamed in the background.
Vincent moved toward the ladder.
Dominic caught his arm.
“It’s too obvious.”
“I don’t have time.”
I looked at the enormous ventilation ducts.
Then at several sealed bags stacked in a dry-storage room.
Flour.
Old, but still usable for something other than food.
“I have an idea,” I said.
Vincent turned.
“Does it involve fire?”
“Not this time.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“How dangerous?”
May you like
I picked up one of the bags.
“Less dangerous than twelve guns. More dangerous than a wedding cake.”
