Chapter 11 - The Chase on the Eisenhower
The impact was catastrophic.
The heavy SUV lurched violently forward, throwing me against the back of Marco’s seat. The screech of tearing metal and shattered glass filled the cabin.
Lily screamed in terror, burying her face into my chest as I wrapped my arms around her, forming a desperate, human shield.
“Hold on!” Marco roared over the noise.
He floored the accelerator, the powerful engine of the Moretti SUV howling as it fought to break free from the armored truck grinding against our rear bumper. Sparks showered the wet pavement in our wake, illuminating the desolate stretch of the Eisenhower Expressway.
The radio chattered frantically, Luca’s voice breaking through the static.
“Marco! Report!”
“We’re hit, Boss!” Marco shouted, wrestling the steering wheel as the SUV fishtailed on the slick asphalt. “Black armored transport, heavily modified! They’re trying to run us off the road!”
“Do not stop the vehicle!” Luca commanded, the sound of returning gunfire echoing behind his words. “If you stop, they will execute Claire and the girl! Head for the Lower Wacker Drive tunnels! Lose them in the subterranean levels!”
“Copy that!” Marco grunted.
The armored truck rammed us again, harder this time. The force sent our vehicle skidding sideways. Marco expertly counter-steered, correcting the slide just before we slammed into the concrete median.
I looked back through the shattered rear window.
The matte-black truck looked like a military vehicle, completely devoid of license plates or markings. A heavy steel ram bar was welded to its front grill, designed specifically for running targets off the road.
“They’re coming up alongside us!” I screamed, panic surging through my veins as the truck accelerated, pulling parallel to the passenger side of our SUV.
The tinted window of the truck rolled down.
A man wearing a tactical mask leaned out, aiming a submachine gun directly at the back seat where Lily and I huddled.
“Get down!” Marco bellowed.
He didn’t wait for the gunman to fire. Marco slammed the brakes, dropping the SUV’s speed instantly.
The armored truck shot past us, the gunman’s bullets tearing through the empty space where our front windshield had been seconds before. The deafening roar of automatic fire echoed in the confined space of the highway.
Marco immediately slammed the gas again, pulling our vehicle sharply to the left, ramming the side of the truck.
The two massive vehicles ground against each other, trading paint at eighty miles an hour in the freezing rain.
“I can’t shake them on the open road!” Marco yelled, pulling a heavy Glock from his shoulder holster and resting it on his lap. “They have too much armor!”
Ahead, the illuminated signs for the downtown exits flashed by in a blur.
Marco yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, taking a sharp, descending off-ramp at a terrifying speed. The tires shrieked in protest as we plunged off the highway, diving down into the labyrinth of Lower Wacker Drive.
The subterranean tunnels of Chicago swallowed us whole. The harsh, flickering fluorescent lights cast rapid, strobing shadows across the interior of the car. The massive concrete pillars holding up the city above whizzed past in a dizzying blur.
The armored truck roared down the ramp right behind us, its headlights blinding in the dark tunnel.
“Marco, what do we do?!” I cried, clutching Lily so tightly my arms ached.
“Keep your head down, Claire!” Marco ordered.
He weaved the SUV through the maze of concrete pillars, utilizing his intimate knowledge of the city’s underground. He took a sharp, blind left turn into a narrow service tunnel, killing the headlights in a desperate attempt to lose our pursuers in the darkness.
For ten agonizing seconds, the tunnel was pitch black, save for the faint glow of the dashboard.
The roar of the truck’s engine echoed somewhere behind us, searching.
“Did we lose them?” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Before Marco could answer, a pair of blinding headlights suddenly illuminated the service tunnel directly in front of us.
Another vehicle was blocking the exit.
“Ambush!” Marco roared.
He slammed on the brakes, the SUV skidding to a halt just thirty feet from a second cartel vehicle blocking our path.
Behind us, the roar of the armored truck grew louder, cutting off our only escape route. We were boxed in. Trapped in a subterranean concrete tomb.
Four heavily armed cartel soldiers stepped out of the vehicle in front of us, raising their assault rifles.
“Stay in the car, Claire,” Marco ordered, his voice dropping to a calm, lethal register. He unbuckled his seatbelt, racking the slide of his Glock. “Lock the doors. Do not open them for anyone but me or the Boss.”
“Marco, don’t!” I pleaded, tears spilling over my lashes. “There are too many of them!”
“I swore on my mother’s soul nobody would touch the girl,” Marco said softly, looking back at me with a fierce, unwavering loyalty. “And a Moretti man keeps his promises.”
He kicked his door open and stepped out into the harsh fluorescent light.
Gunfire erupted instantly.
The deafening roar of automatic weapons echoed through the concrete tunnel. Marco moved with terrifying speed, firing with deadly precision, utilizing the heavy doors of the SUV for cover.
I threw myself over Lily on the floorboard, screaming as bullets shattered the remaining windows, showering us in safety glass.
I couldn’t see what was happening outside, but I heard the shouts of the cartel men, the rapid return fire of Marco’s weapon, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the pavement.
Then, an agonizing groan echoed from right outside my door.
I peered over the edge of the seat, my blood running cold.
Marco was slumped against the front tire of the SUV, clutching his chest. Blood poured through his fingers, staining his white shirt a brilliant, horrifying crimson. He had taken down three of the men, but the fourth was advancing slowly, his rifle raised for the execution shot.
“No!” I screamed.
I didn’t think. I reacted purely on maternal desperation.
I scrambled into the front seat, ignoring the glass cutting into my knees. I didn’t reach for a gun—I didn’t know how to use one.
Instead, I threw the SUV into drive.
I slammed my foot onto the gas pedal.
The massive vehicle lurched forward with a roar. The advancing cartel soldier didn’t have time to react. The heavy grill of the SUV struck him squarely in the chest, pinning him violently against the cartel vehicle blocking the tunnel exit.
The impact crushed the front end of our car, deploying the airbags with a concussive blast that knocked me back against the seat, momentarily stunning me.
Smoke hissed from the radiator.
I gasped for air, pushing the deflated airbag away, my head spinning.
“Lily?” I coughed, looking back frantically.
“I’m okay, Mommy,” Lily whimpered from the floorboard, clutching her rabbit tightly.
I kicked my door open and stumbled out of the wrecked vehicle. Marco was still slumped against the tire, breathing heavily, his face pale with blood loss.
“Marco,” I cried, dropping to my knees beside him, pressing my hands over his bleeding chest to stem the flow. “You have to hold on. Please.”
“You’re... a terrible driver, Claire,” Marco grunted, a weak, bloody smile touching his lips.
Before I could answer, the roar of a heavy engine echoed from the darkness behind us.
The armored truck that had chased us down the ramp had finally found us.
It slowly rolled into the service tunnel, its headlights blinding me, pinning me against the wrecked SUV. The heavy doors swung open, and three massive cartel enforcers stepped out, their rifles aimed directly at my chest.
I stood up slowly, raising my hands, placing my body completely in front of Lily in the back seat.
“Please,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Just let my daughter go. Take me. Just let her live.”
The lead enforcer sneered, racking the bolt of his rifle.
“No witnesses,” he stated coldly.
He raised his weapon to his shoulder, lining up the sights on my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering a final prayer for my little girl.
But the gunshot never came.
Instead, a deafening, thunderous roar echoed from the tunnel entrance.
A sleek, heavily modified black Mercedes tore into the service tunnel at over a hundred miles an hour. It didn’t slow down. It didn’t swerve.
It rammed directly into the side of the armored truck with catastrophic force.
The impact flipped the massive truck onto its side, sending the cartel enforcers diving out of the way in panic.
The Mercedes skidded to a halt, its front end completely destroyed.
The driver’s side door kicked open.
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Stepping out of the smoke and twisted metal, holding a submachine gun in each hand, his tactical jacket stained with blood but his eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute vengeance, was my husband.
Matteo Moretti had arrived.
