Chapter 11 - THE DEAD MAN’S SWITCH
“Dad!” I screamed, slamming my hand against the bank’s glass door.
I bolted through the exit, running recklessly into the busy Chicago street. Tires screeched as a taxi swerved to avoid me, the driver blaring his horn, but I didn't stop.
I reached the black sedan just as the man in the dark suit rolled up the tinted window.
I grabbed the door handle and yanked. Locked.
“Dad! Open the door!” I slammed my fists against the glass.
My father looked at me through the window. The stroke had left the left side of his face drooping, his speech severely impaired. He looked frail, his eyes wide with panic. He tried to reach for the lock with his good hand, but the driver grabbed his wrist and shoved him back against the seat.
The driver looked at me through the glass. He didn't smile. He held up a cell phone, pointing to the screen.
It was an active call.
Then, he hit the gas.
The sedan tore away from the curb, merging violently into city traffic.
“No!” I shrieked, sprinting after the car.
I chased it for half a block, my lungs burning, the heavy metal deposit box banging against my hip, until the car vanished around a corner.
I collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air, tears blurring my vision.
My phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
I snatched it out with trembling hands.
“You have thirty minutes, Emma,” Dominic’s raspy voice echoed through the speaker.
“Don't hurt him!” I sobbed. “Please, Dominic. He’s already suffered enough.”
“He suffered because he was stupid,” Dominic wheezed from his hospital bed. “And now you’re being stupid. I built a contingency plan for this exact scenario. A dead man’s switch. If I am indicted, my men clear the board.”
“What do you want?” I cried, wiping dirt and tears from my face.
“The contents of that box,” Dominic said coldly. “Those ledgers tie me to the coroner payoff. Without them, Luca has no hard proof I killed his wife. It’s my word against his crazy daughter’s. With those documents gone, my lawyers can get me out on bail by midnight.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m a survivor,” Dominic countered. “Here are your instructions. Go to the pedestrian bridge over the Chicago River on State Street. Bring the box. My man will be waiting. You hand him the documents, and he lets your father out of the car. You call the police, you call Luca, or you are one minute late... your father goes into the river.”
The line went dead.
I sat on the cold concrete sidewalk.
Thirty minutes.
I looked down at the metal tin in my lap.
Inside was the only evidence that could put Dominic away forever.
It was the justice my father deserved. It was the justice Isabella’s mother deserved.
But if I gave it to Dominic, he would walk free. He would return to the family. He would hunt Luca, Isabella, and the twins down until he succeeded.
And if I didn't give it to him... my father died today.
I stood up, my legs shaking.
I had to make the trade. I had no other choice. My father’s life was worth more than revenge.
I hailed another taxi and ordered the driver to State Street.
During the ride, I opened the metal tin one last time.
I looked at the ledgers. The birth certificates. The blood-stained brass pipe fitting.
Dominic was going to take it all. He was going to erase history.
I pulled out my father’s worn leather journal.
I traced his handwriting.
I am going to the police tomorrow morning.
He had been so brave. He had stood up to the mafia to do the right thing, and it cost him everything.
And now, I was going to undo his sacrifice just to keep him breathing.
The taxi slammed on its brakes.
“Traffic’s backed up, lady,” the driver grunted. “Bridge is closed for construction. You gotta walk from here.”
I shoved a twenty-dollar bill at him and scrambled out of the car.
I ran down the crowded sidewalk toward the State Street pedestrian bridge. The wind off the river was biting, whipping my hair across my face.
I saw the black sedan idling near the center of the bridge, hazard lights blinking.
The driver was standing outside the car, leaning against the hood. He was wearing sunglasses despite the overcast sky.
I slowed my pace, clutching the heavy metal box against my chest.
“I’m here,” I shouted over the wind.
The driver stood up straight. He looked at the box, then pointed to the backseat of the car.
I could see my father inside, leaning against the window, looking exhausted.
“Put the box on the hood,” the driver ordered.
“Let my father out first,” I demanded.
The driver reached into his jacket and pulled out a suppressed pistol, keeping it low against his side so the passing pedestrians wouldn't see.
“Put the box on the hood, girl. I don't have time to play.”
I swallowed hard. I stepped forward and placed the metal tin on the cold steel hood of the car.
The driver smirked. He reached for the box.
“Emma! Get down!” a massive voice roared from behind me.
I instinctively dropped to the pavement.
A heavy crack split the air.
The driver screamed, his gun clattering to the bridge as a bullet shattered his shoulder. He fell against the car, clutching his bleeding arm.
I spun around.
Standing fifty feet away, walking through the panicked crowd on the bridge, was Luca Moretti.
He looked like an angel of death in a tailored black coat, his handgun raised and smoking.
Behind him walked three of his heavily armed enforcers.
“Get her father out of the car,” Luca ordered his men without taking his eyes off the bleeding driver.
Two men rushed past me, yanking the car doors open and gently helping my bewildered father out into the fresh air.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to him, throwing my arms around his frail shoulders.
“Dad! I’m so sorry, Dad.”
He patted my back awkwardly with his good hand, tears in his eyes.
I looked at Luca. “How did you know? I didn't call you.”
Luca holstered his weapon. He walked over to the car, picking up the metal tin box from the hood.
May you like
He looked at me, a rare, genuine smile crossing his rugged face.
“You didn't call me, Emma,” Luca said. “But Isabella did.”
