Chapter 8 - THE CATHEDRAL AND THE CAPTAINS
The Cathedral of St. Jude was a towering, gothic masterpiece located in the heart of Chicago’s old Italian district. At 4:00 AM, it was a dark, imposing fortress of stone and stained glass, completely silent save for the drumming of the relentless rain.
Luca parked the sedan in the shadows of the cathedral’s alleyway.
“Stay in the car, Claire,” Luca instructed, his voice clipped and all business. He turned to Nico. “You’re with me. It’s time they see the heir.”
Nico swallowed hard, nodding. He looked terrified, but he grabbed the handgun from his lap and tucked it into his waistband, mirroring his father’s posture.
I watched through the rain-slicked window as Luca and Nico walked up the sweeping stone steps and pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the cathedral.
The wait was agonizing. I sat alone in the dark car, my mind replaying every horrible scenario of what Viktor Volkov might be doing to Emily. She was terrified of the dark. She was claustrophobic. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying harder than I had in my entire life.
Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty.
Suddenly, the roar of high-performance engines shattered the quiet of the neighborhood.
I ducked down in the seat as four massive, armored black Escalades tore into the plaza in front of the cathedral. Dozens of heavily armed men poured out, securing the perimeter with terrifying, professional efficiency.
From the lead vehicle, five men stepped out. They wore expensive suits and long trench coats, looking like absolute power personified.
The Syndicate Captains.
They marched up the cathedral steps and disappeared inside.
I strained to hear anything over the rain, but the thick stone walls muffled all sound. I could only imagine the tension inside that sanctuary. Five ruthless men who thought their Don was dead, now facing him at the altar.
Ten minutes later, the cathedral doors burst open.
Luca strode out, looking like a conquering king. The five captains followed closely behind him, their postures submissive and respectful. Nico walked proudly at his father’s right side, the terrified kid completely gone, replaced by a young man who had just claimed his birthright.
Luca reached the sedan and opened my door.
“We have an army,” Luca said simply.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I’d been holding. “Did they agree to help?”
“They didn't have a choice,” Nico smirked from behind his father. “Dad told them about the bearer bonds in the lake. He said whoever kills Viktor Volkov gets exclusive dredging rights to the boathouse dock.”
I stared at Luca in shock. “You gave away twenty million dollars?”
“I gave away wet paper,” Luca corrected smoothly, helping me out of the car. “Loyalty bought with money is temporary. Loyalty bought with greed is absolute. They will tear the rail yard apart to get Viktor’s head.”
He gestured to one of the armored Escalades. “Get in. We move now.”
The convoy tore through the city streets like a dark, armored train. The rain began to slow, turning into a miserable, freezing mist as the first faint, grey light of dawn touched the horizon.
We approached the abandoned rail yard on 35th Street. It was a sprawling, desolate wasteland of rusted train cars, overgrown tracks, and crumbling brick warehouses.
The convoy stopped two blocks away, cutting their headlights.
Luca turned to me in the back of the Escalade. He handed me a simple manila folder. It was empty.
“This is the paperwork for the shipping ports,” Luca instructed, his voice low and serious. “Viktor will be waiting in the center clearing near the old switching tower. You walk in alone. You hold the folder high. You tell him I sent you to negotiate the terms of his safe passage out of the city.”
My hands shook violently as I took the empty folder. “He’ll know I’m lying.”
“He will,” Luca agreed, his dark eyes locking onto mine with fierce intensity. “He will threaten you. He will try to intimidate you. But he won't shoot you immediately because he wants to know where I am. You just have to keep him talking for fifteen minutes, Claire. Can you do this?”
I thought of Emily, tied to a chair, terrified in the dark.
I took a deep breath, forcing my hands to stop shaking. “I can do this.”
Luca reached out, gently cupping my face with his large, warm hand. “I won't let you die, Claire. I promise you.”
I nodded, unable to speak, and stepped out of the armored vehicle into the freezing mist.
I walked alone down the broken asphalt road leading into the rail yard. The silence was deafening, broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes. I held the empty manila folder tightly against my chest.
As I rounded a rusted cargo train, the center clearing came into view.
It was a terrifying sight.
Two dozen Russian mercenaries dressed in urban camouflage stood in a wide perimeter, holding assault rifles.
In the center of the clearing, sitting elegantly on a folding camp chair, was Viktor Volkov. He was an older man with silver hair, wearing a fur-lined coat, smoking a long cigarette.
And kneeling on the wet gravel beside him, her hands tied behind her back and a blindfold covering her eyes, was Emily.
“Emily!” I screamed, breaking into a run.
“Claire?!” Emily sobbed, recognizing my voice instantly. She struggled against her bindings, terrified.
Two massive mercenaries stepped in front of me, raising their rifles, blocking my path to her.
Viktor Volkov chuckled, taking a slow drag from his cigarette.
“Ah, the brave little housekeeper,” Viktor smiled, his thick Russian accent curling around the words. “I must admit, I am disappointed. I expected Luca Moretti to face me like a man. Instead, he sends the help.”
I forced myself to stand tall, gripping the empty folder. “Mr. Moretti sent me to deliver the paperwork for the shipping ports.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Did he now? And where is he?”
“He is securing his assets,” I lied smoothly, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. “He agrees to your terms. The ports are yours. But he added a condition.”
“A condition?” Viktor scoffed, standing up from his chair. “He is in no position to demand conditions.”
“He demands your immediate departure from Chicago upon receipt of these documents,” I continued, channeling every ounce of Luca’s arrogant authority I had witnessed over the past two years. “If you remain in the city past noon, the deal is void.”
Viktor stared at me, his cold blue eyes narrowing. He walked slowly toward me, stopping just inches from my face. He smelled of expensive cologne and cheap tobacco.
“You are a very good liar, Clara,” Viktor whispered softly.
My heart hammered in my throat, but I didn't break eye contact.
Viktor snatched the manila folder from my hands. He opened it.
He stared at the blank paper inside.
A slow, cruel smile spread across his weathered face. He dropped the folder into the mud at his feet.
“He didn't send you to negotiate,” Viktor realized, looking around the quiet rail yard. “He sent you as a distraction.”
He drew a heavy, silver plated handgun from his coat and pressed the barrel directly against Emily’s head.
“Where is he?!” Viktor roared, his polite facade vanishing completely. “Tell me where Luca Moretti is, or I blow your sister’s brains out right now!”
Emily screamed, sobbing hysterically.
“I don't know!” I cried, falling to my knees, absolute terror overriding my brave front. “Please, don't hurt her! I’m begging you!”
Viktor sneered in disgust. He pulled the hammer back on the pistol.
“Goodbye, Emily,” Viktor whispered.
But as his finger tightened on the trigger, a sound cut through the freezing mist.
It wasn't a gunshot.
It was the high-pitched, echoing whistle of a train horn.
Viktor frowned, looking toward the rusted tracks bordering the clearing. The tracks had been abandoned for twenty years.
Suddenly, a massive, deafening roar erupted from the morning fog.
A full-sized, heavily armored diesel locomotive—stolen from a commercial switching yard a mile away—tore down the rusted tracks at terrifying speed.
It didn't stop.
The massive train smashed violently through a line of old, empty cargo cars parked near the clearing, sending tons of rusted metal flying into the air like shrapnel.
The Russian mercenaries screamed, diving for cover as raining metal decimated their perimeter.
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Viktor stumbled backward, dropping his gun in sheer shock.
And standing on the exterior catwalk of the roaring locomotive, holding a heavy assault rifle and a look of absolute, lethal fury, was Luca Moretti.
