Chapter 9 - THE CLOCK TOWER
The small piece of paper felt like a lead weight in my hand.
I always finish Phase Two.
"She has him," I gasped, the words tearing at my throat. "Luca, she has Henry."
Luca didn't speak. He didn't yell or throw things. The sheer magnitude of his rage seemed to pull all the oxygen out of the vault. He stood perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on the little blue mitten resting on the red suitcase.
"Silvio," Luca said, his voice dangerously low, echoing off the steel walls of the empty vault.
Silvio, who had followed us down, stood at attention, his face grim. "Boss?"
"Lock down every road, train station, and airport within fifty miles," Luca commanded, the terrifying, ruthless mafia boss completely overriding the panicked father. "Vanessa is bleeding and dragging an eight-year-old child. She can't move fast. I want every man in Chicago looking for a woman in a white coat."
"It's already done, Boss," Silvio assured him, immediately pulling out his radio.
"Why would she take him?" I cried, panic spiraling in my chest. "Falcone is dead! The Russian deal is broken! She has nothing to gain!"
"She has nothing left to lose, Emily," Luca corrected, turning to look at me. His eyes were cold, hollow pits of fury. "I took her empire, I humiliated her, and you broke her face. She doesn't want money anymore. She wants revenge."
He walked over and gently picked up the blue mitten, clutching it tightly in his large fist.
"Phase Two wasn't about seizing the territory," Luca deduced, his tactical mind racing through the horrific possibilities. "Phase Two was eliminating me. She knows I won't stop hunting her. So she took the one thing that would force me to come to her unarmed."
Suddenly, Luca's cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
The sound was shockingly loud in the quiet vault.
Luca pulled it out. It was a blocked number.
He answered it, putting it on speaker, his face a mask of granite.
"Vanessa," Luca said, his voice flat and deadly.
A high, breathless laugh crackled through the speaker.
"Hello, darling," Vanessa purred. Her voice sounded strange—wet and slightly slurred, likely from the severe concussion I had given her. "Did you find my little note?"
"Where is my son?" Luca demanded.
"He's right here," Vanessa said cheerfully. "He's been crying for the maid, unfortunately. It's giving me a terrible headache."
"If you touch one hair on his head, Vanessa," Luca swore, "I will peel the skin from your bones while you breathe."
"Oh, save the tough-guy routine for your goons, Luca," Vanessa sneered. "We both know you're not in charge right now. I am."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to suffer," Vanessa stated simply, dropping the playful act. "I want you to watch everything you love burn, just like you burned my future."
"Tell me where you are."
"You know the old St. Jude’s Clock Tower on the West Side?" Vanessa asked. "The one scheduled for demolition next week?"
"I know it," Luca said, his jaw clenching.
"Meet me at the top," Vanessa instructed. "In exactly thirty minutes. Come alone. No guns, no backup. Just you and your pathetic little maid."
I froze, my eyes widening. "She wants me there?"
"You broke my face, Emily," Vanessa snarled through the phone. "You're going to pay for that. Both of you walk up the stairs. If I see a single car pull up, or a sniper laser in the windows, I toss the boy off the balcony. Thirty minutes."
The line went dead.
Luca lowered the phone, his grip so tight the plastic casing groaned.
"Silvio," Luca said quietly.
"Boss, you can't go up there unarmed," Silvio protested instantly. "It's a suicide mission. Let me send a strike team up the elevator shaft."
"She said no backup," Luca snapped, turning sharply. "If she sees your men, she throws my son off a two-hundred-foot tower. I am not risking his life."
"But Boss—"
"I gave you an order, Silvio!" Luca roared, the terrifying volume finally breaking his composed facade. "You lock down the perimeter of that tower, but no one goes inside except me and Emily. Am I clear?"
Silvio swallowed hard, nodding grimly. "Crystal clear, Boss."
Luca turned to me, the anger fading, replaced by a desperate, vulnerable apology in his eyes.
"You don't have to go, Emily," Luca said softly. "I can tell her you ran away. I won't ask you to walk into a trap for my son."
I looked at the blue mitten in his hand. I thought of Henry, terrified and crying in the dark, calling for me.
I didn't hesitate. I reached out and took Luca's hand.
"I made him a promise," I said, my voice remarkably steady. "I'm going with you."
The drive to the West Side was agonizingly silent. The storm had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, suffocating fog that rolled off Lake Michigan, swallowing the city in a gray shroud.
The St. Jude’s Clock Tower loomed out of the fog like a gothic nightmare. It was a massive, decaying stone structure, surrounded by chain-link construction fences and heavy demolition equipment.
Silvio parked the SUV two blocks away, hidden in an alley.
Luca and I walked the rest of the way in silence. He wore no jacket, leaving his white shirt exposed to show he carried no weapons. I wore my simple maid's uniform, shivering slightly in the damp, freezing air.
We slipped through a gap in the construction fence and entered the base of the tower.
It was pitch black, smelling of mold, pigeon droppings, and rotting wood. The elevator was clearly out of service, a rusted metal cage dangling uselessly in the shaft.
"Ten flights," Luca whispered, pointing to the winding, stone staircase that hugged the inner wall of the tower. "Stay behind me."
We began the climb.
My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, echoing the heavy thud-thud-thud of our footsteps on the stone. Every shadow felt like a threat. Every creak of the ancient wood made me jump.
As we passed the eighth floor, a sickening metallic scent hit my nose.
It was copper. It was blood.
We reached the tenth-floor landing, the massive gears of the old clock face looming in the darkness above us. The door to the outdoor observation balcony was standing wide open, gray fog swirling through the frame.
Luca stepped onto the balcony first, his hands raised openly in surrender. I followed close behind him, terrified.
The observation deck was narrow, surrounded by a low, crumbling stone balustrade. The fog was so thick I could barely see the street two hundred feet below.
Standing at the very edge of the balcony, her back pressed against the low stone wall, was Vanessa.
She looked horrifying. The right side of her face was completely swollen and purple from where I had struck her with the fire extinguisher, her eye swollen shut. Her white coat was soaked in dirt and blood.
But her good eye burned with a manic, triumphant fire.
In her right hand, she held a large, serrated hunting knife, pressed tightly against Henry's throat.
Henry was standing in front of her, his small body trembling violently, tears streaming silently down his pale face.
"Dad!" Henry cried out, his voice cracking.
"I'm here, buddy. I'm right here," Luca said, his voice agonizingly gentle, keeping his hands raised. "Don't move, okay? Just look at me."
"You actually came unarmed," Vanessa laughed, a wet, rattling sound. "How incredibly stupid. I thought you were supposed to be a monster, Luca."
"Let him go, Vanessa," Luca said firmly, ignoring her taunts. "You want me. You want Emily. Take us. Let the boy walk down the stairs."
"Oh, I'll let him go," Vanessa smiled, a chilling, venomous expression. "Right over the edge."
She pulled Henry an inch closer to the low stone wall. Henry whimpered, terrified by the sheer drop behind them.
"Please!" I screamed, unable to hold back the panic. "Vanessa, stop! You don't want to kill a child! You're a businesswoman, not a monster!"
Vanessa’s good eye snapped to me, filled with absolute, boiling hatred.
"You did this to me," Vanessa spat, pointing the knife at me for a fraction of a second before returning it to Henry's throat. "You ruined my face. You ruined my plan. You ruined my life!"
"I'm sorry!" I pleaded, tears spilling down my cheeks, willing to say anything to save Henry. "I'm sorry, okay? Kill me. Push me off. Just let him go!"
"No," Vanessa sneered. "Killing you is too easy. I want Luca to watch his future die. And I want you to know it's your fault."
She shifted her grip on the knife, preparing to shove Henry backward over the edge.
"Vanessa, wait!" Luca roared, his voice echoing violently off the stone walls.
Vanessa paused, reveling in the sheer desperation of the most powerful man in Chicago.
"What?" she mocked.
Luca slowly reached his hand into his pants pocket.
Vanessa instantly tensed, pressing the knife harder against Henry's neck, drawing a tiny, terrifying drop of blood.
"Hands where I can see them, Luca!" she shrieked. "Or I cut his throat!"
"It's not a gun," Luca said calmly, keeping his eyes locked on hers.
He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket.
He held up a small, rectangular object.
It was the black leather journal.
Vanessa’s eyes widened in absolute shock.
"You were looking for the offshore account codes," Luca said, his voice deadly quiet. "You couldn't find them in the vault. Do you know why?"
Vanessa didn't answer, staring at the journal as if it were a ghost.
"Because my father didn't hide the routing numbers in a safe," Luca revealed, holding the journal up in the fog. "He hid them in the spine of this ledger. The ledger you dropped in the hallway when Marco dragged you out of the dining room."
He took a slow step toward the edge of the balcony.
"If you drop my son, Vanessa," Luca promised, dangling the journal over the two-hundred-foot drop, "I drop the only copy of the offshore access codes. You leave here with nothing, and the Volkovs hunt you down and skin you alive for losing their money."
Vanessa hesitated, her greed warring violently with her desire for revenge. She looked at the book, then at Henry, then back at the book.
"Toss it to me," Vanessa demanded, her voice shaking.
"Let Henry go first," Luca countered, his hand steady over the abyss.
Vanessa gritted her teeth, realizing she was trapped. She needed that money to survive the fallout of her failed coup.
"Fine," Vanessa spat.
She shoved Henry roughly forward.
Henry stumbled, crying out, and sprinted across the stone balcony, launching himself into my waiting arms. I crushed him against my chest, burying my face in his hair, sobbing in profound, overwhelming relief.
"The book, Luca!" Vanessa yelled, holding her hand out.
Luca looked at her, a cold, empty expression on his face.
"You really think my father would hide billions of dollars in a leather spine?" Luca asked softly.
Vanessa froze. "What?"
"It's just a book, Vanessa," Luca said.
He opened his fingers and dropped the journal over the edge.
Vanessa screamed in horror, lunging forward toward the low stone wall, desperately trying to catch the book before it vanished into the fog.
It was a fatal mistake.
In her blind, greedy panic, her wet boots slipped on the rain-slicked stone of the balcony.
She lost her balance, her momentum carrying her upper body completely over the low balustrade.
She let out a terrifying, abbreviated shriek, grabbing frantically at the wet stone.
But there was nothing to hold onto.
She tumbled over the edge, disappearing silently into the thick, gray fog below.
A few seconds later, a dull, sickening thud echoed from the street level.
Silence returned to the clock tower, broken only by the whistling wind and the sound of my ragged breathing.
Luca stood at the edge of the balcony, staring down into the fog for a long moment, ensuring the nightmare was finally over.
Then, he turned around.
He didn't look like a mafia boss anymore. He looked like a father who had just survived the end of the world.
He dropped to his knees on the cold stone, reaching his arms out.
"Henry," Luca choked out, tears spilling freely down his bruised face.
Henry let go of me and ran to his father.
Luca wrapped his arms around his son, burying his face in Henry's small shoulder, rocking him back and forth on the balcony floor, sobbing openly and unapologetically in the gray morning light.
I stood there, watching them, tears of joy streaming down my own face.
We had survived.
May you like
But as I looked at the dark stairwell leading back down to the city, I realized that surviving was only the first step.
Now, we had to figure out how to live.
