Chapter 8 - THE FLIGHT TICKET
"Daniel," Luca snapped, his voice slicing through the emotional reunion. "Where is Hannah?"
Daniel stepped away from the freed Evelyn Mitchell, his face tightening. "I left her at the estate under guard, boss. Just like you ordered."
Luca held up the plane ticket. "This ticket is for a private charter out of O'Hare. Departure time is in one hour. And it has Hannah Walsh's name on it."
He turned his blazing eyes toward Carmine, who was currently being zip-tied by Don Salvatore’s men.
"Why do you have a ticket for a pregnant woman?" Luca demanded, stepping into Carmine's space.
Carmine spat blood onto the floor and grinned a broken, ugly smile.
"You think Vanessa was acting alone on the baby front? She knew you’d figure out the fake pregnancy eventually. She sold the girl to me."
Luca grabbed Carmine by the collar of his shirt, lifting the heavier man onto his toes. "Explain."
"Vanessa owed me money," Carmine gasped. "A lot of it. She gambled away her trust fund years ago. When she realized she couldn't get her hands on your wealth right away, she offered me the next best thing. A newborn to sell on the black market. There are buyers overseas who pay millions for untraceable infants from healthy American girls."
Lauren let out a gasp of sheer horror, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Vanessa told me to have a crew extract the girl from your estate tonight while you were busy playing hero," Carmine laughed. "By the time you get back, Hannah will be in the air."
Luca didn't waste a second. He dropped Carmine, spinning toward Daniel.
"Get Salvatore's men to clean this up. Take Evelyn, Lauren, and Leo back to the safe house downtown. No one goes back to the main estate."
"Where are you going?" Lauren asked, stepping forward, her arm wrapped tightly around her frail mother.
"To stop a flight," Luca said.
He bolted out of the warehouse, throwing himself into the driver's seat of the fastest SUV. He didn't wait for a driver. He slammed the car into gear, the tires squealing as he tore out of the dockyards.
The rain had stopped, but the roads were slick. Luca pushed the heavy armored vehicle to its absolute limit, the speedometer needle burying itself past a hundred miles an hour.
He grabbed his radio. "Security Team One, report. Status on Hannah Walsh."
Static crackled. Then, a groaning voice. "Boss... we got hit. Three men. They came through the service tunnels... they took her."
Luca cursed, slamming his fist against the steering wheel.
He didn't head to the estate. He pointed the SUV straight toward O'Hare International Airport's private tarmac. He had less than thirty minutes before the plane took off.
The skyline of Chicago blurred past him. His mind raced. Hannah was innocent. She was a desperate young woman who had only agreed to Vanessa's insane scheme to pay for her sick mother's medical bills. She had tried to back out. She had tried to do the right thing.
And now, she was being trafficked.
Luca's phone buzzed on the dashboard. It was Daniel.
"Boss, I tapped into the airport's security feed. A black van just breached Gate 4 of the private hangars. They're loading her onto a Gulfstream."
"Can you ground it?" Luca demanded, weaving through traffic.
"I tried. The pilot killed his transponder. The tower can't communicate with him. He's taxiing to Runway 9. He's going to take off without clearance."
"Not today," Luca growled.
He smashed through the outer perimeter fencing of the private airfield, the heavy steel gate exploding outward in a shower of sparks. The SUV hit the tarmac, the tires screaming as Luca fought for control.
Through the windshield, he saw the sleek white Gulfstream rolling down the runway, its engines whining as it built speed.
Luca floored the accelerator. The SUV roared, closing the distance.
Inside the plane, Hannah was strapped to a seat, weeping hysterically, while two of Carmine's men laughed, pouring themselves drinks.
Luca lined up the hood of the armored SUV with the plane's front landing gear.
He wasn't going to try and shoot out the tires. He didn't have the angle.
He braced himself against the steering wheel.
"Hold on, Hannah," he whispered.
May you like
At eighty miles an hour, Luca jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. The two-ton armored SUV drifted sideways, sliding directly into the path of the accelerating jet.
The impact was catastrophic.
