Chapter 8 - THE LOCKER AT UNION STATION
The warehouse was dead quiet, save for Marco’s ragged breathing on the floor.
Dominic didn't waste time. He zip-tied Marco’s hands behind his back and dragged him to the corner of the office, roughly tying a piece of cloth around his shattered knee to stop him from bleeding out.
"Rosa, watch him," Dominic ordered, handing his mother Marco’s dropped handgun.
Rosa took it without a tremor in her hands. She looked completely at home holding a weapon. Sadi realized she had vastly underestimated the matriarch of the Russo family.
Dominic turned to Sadi.
"Leo knows Marco failed," Dominic said, rapidly reloading his own weapon. "He’ll assume we’re making a move for the ledger. We have to beat him to Union Station."
"You want me to go with you?" Sadi asked, her voice tight.
"You're the only one who knows what the locker looks like, Sadi. And if the ticket is registered to your father’s name, you might be the only one who can legally access it if it was transferred to long-term secure holding."
He walked over to her, his expression softening slightly.
"I know you don't trust me," Dominic said quietly, looking down at her. "I know this world is terrifying. But right now, we are the only ones keeping each other alive. Can you do this?"
Sadi looked into his gray eyes. She remembered the way he had dragged the heavy oak table off his mother at the diner. The way he had refused to surrender to Marco just moments ago.
He was a monster to the rest of the world. But to her, he was the only shield she had.
"I can do it," Sadi nodded, straightening her posture despite the agony in her ribs.
Dominic reached out, lightly touching her cheek. A fleeting, surprisingly tender gesture.
"Let’s go."
They left Rosa guarding a terrified Marco in the warehouse and took Marco’s unmarked sedan.
The drive to Union Station was tense. The city was asleep, the streets slick with a fresh midnight rain.
"If the ledger is twelve years old," Sadi said, breaking the silence, "why is Leo Moretti so desperate for it now? Wouldn't the information be outdated?"
Dominic kept his eyes on the road.
"It’s not just about the old crimes," Dominic explained. "My father’s ledger didn't just record bribes. It contained the exact coordinates of every buried body, every hidden slush fund, and every piece of blackmail material the Morettis used to control the local government."
He glanced at her.
"Some of those politicians are now judges. Some are senators. If Leo gets that ledger, he doesn't just control the underworld. He controls the city legally."
Sadi felt a shiver run down her spine. Her father, a simple mechanic, had held the entire city of Chicago hostage in a cheap plastic watch.
They arrived at Union Station at 3:00 AM.
The massive, cavernous train station was mostly empty, populated only by exhausted travelers sleeping on benches and a few night-shift janitors pushing brooms across the marble floors.
Dominic pulled the brim of his baseball cap low, keeping one hand inside his coat, resting on his gun.
"Keep your head down," he whispered, guiding Sadi by the elbow.
They walked toward the long-term baggage storage area located in the basement levels of the station.
The air was stale and smelled of ozone and floor wax.
They reached a row of heavy, vintage metal lockers.
Sadi pulled the faded ticket from her pocket.
Locker 402.
She walked down the row, her heart hammering.
398... 400... 402.
She stopped.
The locker was old, the green paint chipped, secured by a heavy, dial combination padlock.
"The ticket has a four-digit code printed on the back," Sadi said, flipping the paper over.
7-1-9-4.
She reached out with a trembling hand and began to spin the dial.
Seven. One. Nine. Four.
She grabbed the heavy metal latch and pulled.
The locker opened with a loud, rusty squeal.
Sadi and Dominic peered inside.
Resting at the very back of the dusty metal box was a small, heavy black lockbox.
Dominic reached in and pulled it out.
It was surprisingly heavy for its size.
"This is it," Dominic breathed, setting the box on a nearby bench. "This is the key to tearing the Morettis apart."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small lock-picking tool, expertly working the simple keyhole on the front of the box.
Click.
He popped the lid open.
Sadi leaned in, expecting to see a micro SD card, a hard drive, or perhaps a small, leather-bound notebook.
She stared inside.
The box was completely empty.
Except for a single, freshly printed photograph resting on the black velvet lining.
Dominic picked up the photograph, his face draining of all color.
It was a picture of Sadi’s father, Arthur Flynn.
But he wasn't dead.
He was older, his hair completely white, sitting in a wheelchair on the patio of what looked like a high-end nursing home.
And standing behind him, smiling directly into the camera, was Leo Moretti.
Written on the back of the photograph, in sharp black marker, were the words:
He never died, Dominic. And he’s been talking to me for ten years.
Sadi backed away, her hands flying to her mouth, a scream dying in her throat.
"My dad," Sadi choked out, her entire reality shattering. "He’s alive?"
Before Dominic could answer, the distinct, terrifying sound of a shotgun racking echoed through the empty basement corridor.
From the shadows at the far end of the hall, six heavily armed men stepped into the light.
May you like
And walking in the center of them, wearing a tailored Italian suit and a smug, predatory smile, was Leo Moretti.
"Hello, Sadi," Leo’s voice boomed through the echoing station. "It’s time for a family reunion."
