Chapter 3 - The Midnight Drive
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
He’s going to the rehab center.
My father. Andrew was going after my father.
Panic, raw and blinding, clawed up my throat. I didn't wait for Rafael. I didn't wait for Marco. I turned and sprinted past the velvet rope, my heels clicking frantically against the marble floor of the restaurant.
“Hannah, wait!” Emma yelled, running after me.
I ignored the startled gasps of the remaining diners. I burst through the heavy brass doors of Bellamy’s into the cool Chicago night air. The street was lined with luxury cars and valets, but I didn't have my keys. Andrew had taken them three days ago, claiming my car needed an oil change.
I looked wildly up and down the street, searching for a taxi. Nothing.
Suddenly, a massive hand wrapped gently but firmly around my upper arm.
“You can’t outrun him on foot,” Rafael said.
He was standing right behind me, his dark suit blending into the shadows of the awning. Marco and three other enormous men flanked him, their demeanors entirely changed from the quiet observers in the booth. They looked like soldiers preparing for a raid.
“I have to get to my dad,” I choked out, trying to pull away. “Andrew knows he’s trapped. If he hurts my father—”
“He won't,” Rafael interrupted, his voice an absolute, unyielding command that forced me to stop struggling. He let go of my arm and pointed toward the curb.
A sleek, armored black SUV pulled up silently, the tinted windows rolling down.
“Get in,” Rafael ordered.
Emma rushed out of the restaurant, breathless, and scrambled into the back seat alongside me. Rafael slid in beside us, and Marco took the passenger seat up front.
Before the doors even closed, the driver hit the gas. The SUV surged forward, throwing me back against the leather seats.
“How far is the center?” Rafael asked, his eyes locked on the road ahead.
“Twenty minutes in normal traffic,” Emma answered, her voice trembling. “It’s out near Oak Park.”
Rafael checked his watch. 11:25 PM.
“Marco, get the police on the line,” Rafael ordered. “Tell them we have a credible threat of violence at the Oak Park Rehabilitation Center. Give them Prescott’s description.”
Marco hesitated. “Boss, if we call the cops, and they find out who you are...”
“I don't care,” Rafael snapped, a dangerous edge to his voice that made Marco immediately dial the phone.
I looked at the man sitting next to me. The city lights flashed across his sharp jawline and the dark ink creeping up his neck. He was risking his own freedom, inviting police attention to his organization, for a woman he had met forty-five minutes ago.
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, the adrenaline making my voice shake.
Rafael turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The coldness in his gaze melted into something surprisingly protective.
“Because my father died in a hospital bed while I was too far away to stop the man who killed him,” Rafael said softly. “I don't let history repeat itself in my city.”
The sheer intensity of his confession silenced me. I reached out, my trembling fingers brushing his suit sleeve. “Thank you.”
He didn't pull away. He just nodded once.
The SUV wove through traffic with terrifying precision, running red lights, the driver maneuvering the massive vehicle like a sports car.
Emma squeezed my hand in the backseat, her face pale. “Hannah, what if we’re too late? What if he’s already there?”
“He won't get past the front desk,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as her. “The night nurses know Andrew. But they won't let him into Dad’s room this late. It’s against policy.”
Rafael looked at Emma. “When Andrew caught you downloading the files at the shop today, did he say anything? Did he threaten you specifically?”
Emma swallowed hard. “He didn't have to. He just smiled. That awful, patient smile. He told me I was being a silly girl, and that nobody would believe a part-time waitress over a respected businessman. Then he locked the front door of the shop.”
My blood ran cold. “How did you get out?”
“I broke the back window in the storage room and ran down the alley,” Emma said, tears welling again. “He yelled after me. He said I was going to ruin everything for you and Dad.”
Rafael’s jaw clenched tight. “He’s a coward. Cowards escalate when they lose control of the narrative.”
The SUV tore off the highway exit, the tires screeching as we hit the suburban streets of Oak Park.
“Turn left here,” Emma directed the driver, pointing toward a quiet, tree-lined avenue.
The Oak Park Rehabilitation Center came into view. It was a sprawling, single-story brick building, softly lit against the night sky.
But something was wrong.
There were no police cars out front. No flashing lights.
And parked illegally across two handicapped spaces near the side entrance was Andrew’s silver Lexus.
“He’s here,” I gasped, panic seizing my chest.
The SUV hadn't even come to a complete stop before Rafael kicked his door open. He stepped out, slipping his hand inside his suit jacket.
“Stay in the car,” Rafael ordered me and Emma.
“I’m not staying!” I yelled, scrambling out right behind him. “That’s my father!”
Rafael looked like he wanted to argue, but the sheer desperation in my eyes stopped him. “Stay behind Marco,” he commanded.
We ran toward the side entrance. It was a staff-only door, requiring a keycard. But the door was propped open with a small wedge of wood.
Andrew had planned this.
We slipped inside, moving down a quiet, dimly lit corridor. The smell of antiseptic and floor wax hit me, a smell I associated with months of sitting by my dad’s bedside, praying for him to wake up.
“Which room?” Rafael whispered, gesturing for Marco to take point.
“Room 114,” Emma whispered back from behind me. “End of the hall. Left side.”
We moved quickly and silently. As we approached the intersection of the main hallway, a nurse suddenly stepped out of a supply closet.
She opened her mouth to scream at the sight of three massive men in suits.
Rafael held up a finger to his lips, pulling a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and pressing it into her hand.
“Where is the man who just came through the side door?” Rafael asked, his voice a low, terrifying hum.
The nurse stared at the money, then pointed a trembling finger down the hall. “He... he said he was family. He went into Mr. Walker’s room.”
I didn't wait for Rafael’s permission. I broke into a sprint.
I reached Room 114 and slammed my shoulder into the heavy wooden door, bursting into the room.
The lights were off. The only illumination came from the streetlamp outside the window.
My father was lying in the hospital bed, asleep, the rhythmic beep of his heart monitor steady in the quiet room.
And standing right beside the bed, holding a pillow over his own chest, was Andrew.
Andrew froze, looking up at me. His pristine navy suit was unbuttoned, his tie loosened. The mask of the perfect, patient fiancé was entirely gone. His face was twisted in a panicked, ugly snarl.
“Hannah,” Andrew hissed, taking a step away from the bed. “You shouldn't be here.”
“Get away from him!” I screamed, rushing forward to place myself between Andrew and my sleeping father.
Dad stirred, groaning softly, but the heavy sedatives kept him under.
Andrew let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. He dropped the pillow onto a chair. “You really think you can stop this? It’s already done. The paperwork is filed. The transfer executes in ten minutes.”
“Emma got the drive, Andrew,” I spat, my voice shaking with rage. “She got the IP logs. The audio recordings. We know you forged my name. We know you took out the loan.”
Andrew’s eyes darted to the doorway as Emma stepped into the room, followed by the towering, terrifying presence of Rafael DeLuca.
When Andrew saw Rafael, the color completely drained from his face.
“You brought a mobster to a hospital?” Andrew choked out, taking another step backward.
“I brought the man who owns the property you tried to steal,” Rafael corrected smoothly, stepping into the room. Marco closed the door behind them, blocking the only exit.
Andrew swallowed hard, cornered like a rat. “It doesn't matter. The police won't get here in time to stop the transfer. And once that money hits the offshore accounts, it’s untraceable. You can prove I forged the signature, Hannah, but you’ll never find the money. I’ll disappear.”
“You aren't going anywhere,” Rafael said quietly.
Andrew smirked, a desperate, wild look in his eyes. He reached into his suit jacket.
Marco instantly drew his weapon, aiming it squarely at Andrew’s chest. “Don't move.”
Andrew froze, his hand inside his jacket. “Shoot me,” Andrew laughed hysterically. “Go ahead. Shoot me in front of her father. Then you all go to prison for murder.”
He slowly pulled his hand out of his jacket. He wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding my father’s brass service bell. The one Emma had given me at the restaurant.
I frowned, looking down at my empty hands. I had dropped it in the SUV in my panic.
“Emma told you Dad gave her this, didn't she?” Andrew sneered, holding the tarnished brass bell up in the dim light. “Did she tell you what’s inside it?”
I stared at him, confused. “It’s a bell.”
“It’s a hollow piece of brass,” Andrew corrected, his voice dripping with malice. “A hollow piece of brass that your father kept on his counter for thirty years. A bell your sister told me he never let anyone else touch.”
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Andrew looked at Emma.
“Tell her, Emma,” Andrew commanded, his smile turning cruel. “Tell your perfect older sister why you really hacked my computer today. Tell her what you were actually looking for.”
