Chapter 6 - THE WAREHOUSE ON THE RIVER
The gunshot sent the platform into utter chaos.
Passengers screamed, diving for cover.
Luca tackled the shooter, disarming him with brutal, practiced efficiency.
I slid to my knees beside Frank.
The old man was clutching his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his white shirt beneath the union jacket.
“I’m okay, kid,” Frank wheezed, his face pale. “Just a graze.”
It wasn't a graze, but I pressed my hands hard over his to stop the bleeding.
The boy with the canvas bag—Leo—stood frozen, staring at Luca in shock.
“Are you Michael’s son?” Leo asked, his voice trembling.
“Yes,” Luca said, grabbing Leo by the shoulder. “And so are you. We have to move. Now.”
Luca helped me pull Frank to his feet.
With Marco and the rest of Luca’s security team finally arriving to handle Enzo’s remaining men, we practically carried Frank back to the SUV.
“We can't go to the hospital,” Frank gasped as we laid him across the back seat. “Enzo owns half the cops in this district. He’ll lock down the ER.”
“We’re going to the old warehouse,” Luca decided. “The one Enzo thinks burned down.”
Answer one. Open two.
The warehouse hadn't completely burned down twenty years ago. The structural shell remained, hidden down by the river, legally owned by a shell company Luca controlled.
But why bring us there?
“My father’s old medical kit is still in the foreman’s office,” Luca explained, speeding through the slick, dark streets. “And it’s the only place Enzo won't look.”
We arrived at a massive, rusted corrugated steel building on the edge of the Chicago River.
Luca unlocked the heavy chain, and we pulled the SUV directly inside.
The cavernous space was dark, smelling of oil, damp concrete, and old smoke.
I helped Frank to an old leather sofa in the dusty glass-walled office overlooking the floor.
Luca ripped open a rusty first-aid cabinet and handed me bandages and antiseptic.
“I need you to patch him up, Emma. Can you do it?”
“I took care of my dad,” I said, my hands shaking, but my voice steady. “I can do it.”
While I worked on Frank, Luca turned to Leo.
The boy was staring at the rusted forklift parked in the center of the warehouse.
“My whole life, I was told my father was a nobody,” Leo whispered. “Enzo sent a check every month. He said it was charity.”
“It was guilt,” Luca said softly.
Luca pulled the silver pocket watch from his coat.
“This was Enzo’s. My father stole it the night Enzo killed your mother. It was his leverage to make sure Enzo never touched you.”
Reversal.
Michael hadn't just paid Enzo off. He had held a knife to his throat for twenty years, even from the grave.
Suddenly, the warehouse echoed with the sound of grinding metal.
The massive front bay doors were being forced open.
Headlights pierced the darkness.
Three black sedans rolled onto the warehouse floor.
Enzo Bellini stepped out of the lead car, accompanied by a dozen armed men.
He looked up at the glass office.
“You always were predictable, Luca,” Enzo’s voice boomed through the empty space. “I knew you’d bring the boy to the place where it all started.”
Luca drew his weapon, stepping in front of the office door.
But Enzo wasn't looking at Luca.
He reached into his car and pulled someone out.
It was Vanessa.
Her hands were bound. Enzo held a gun to his own daughter’s head.
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“Give me the boy, Luca,” Enzo shouted. “Or I kill her.”
TITLE: THE FATHER AND THE DAUGHTER
