The Voice On The Speakerphone

The train station was a cathedral of echoing silence, broken only by the heavy, ragged breathing of the massive man stalking toward us.

Marco’s footsteps clicked deliberately against the polished terrazzo floor. He swept the barrel of his rifle across the rows of metal lockers, his eyes searching the shadows behind the marble pillar where Adrian and I were pinned.

“You can't hide forever, Adrian,” Marco yelled, his voice echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings. “Vincent Romano is already tearing the city apart looking for you. You hand me the rosary, I give you a car and safe passage out of Chicago. We both win.”

I clutched the silver rosary in my hand. The cold metal dug into my palm. This small, delicate chain was the key to destroying the man who had terrified my family for fourteen years.

“He’s lying,” Adrian whispered to me, his back pressed flat against the cold marble. He checked the magazine of his pistol. Three bullets left. “He can't let us live. If Vincent finds out Marco killed his wife, Marco is a dead man.”

“What do we do?” I breathed, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.

Adrian looked down at the wooden mahogany box sitting abandoned on the metal bench a few feet away.

“Teresa said let the wolves eat each other,” Adrian murmured.

He looked at me, his dark eyes intense and completely focused.

“Kate. Do exactly what I say. When I step out, throw the rosary as far as you can slide it across the floor toward the main doors.”

“But he has a rifle,” I panicked.

“Trust me,” Adrian said.

He didn't wait for me to argue. Adrian stepped out from behind the marble pillar, his hands raised, holding his empty pistol loosely by the barrel.

“Hold your fire, Marco,” Adrian called out, his voice echoing with absolute authority.

Marco stopped, leveling the rifle at Adrian’s chest. A cruel smile spread across his scarred face. “Smart choice, Boss. Kick the gun away.”

Adrian dropped his pistol. It clattered across the tile.

“I don't have the rosary,” Adrian said calmly. “The girl has it.”

Marco’s eyes shifted toward the pillar. “Bring her out.”

Adrian looked back at me. He gave a sharp, almost imperceptible nod.

I stepped out. I didn't look at Marco’s gun. I looked at the vast expanse of the terminal floor leading toward the shattered glass entrance doors.

I pulled my arm back and threw the silver rosary with everything I had.

It hit the floor twenty yards away, skittering and sliding across the polished tile with a sharp, metallic ringing sound, stopping right in the center of the main concourse.

Marco roared in frustration, instinctively turning his rifle toward the sliding silver object.

In that split second of distraction, Adrian moved.

He didn't run away. He lunged forward, grabbing the heavy mahogany box off the metal bench and hurling it directly at Marco’s head.

The heavy wood struck Marco squarely in the jaw.

The rifle fired wildly into the ceiling, raining plaster down on us. Marco stumbled backward, completely disoriented, dropping the weapon as he clutched his bleeding face.

“Run!” Adrian yelled, grabbing my hand.

We sprinted across the terminal, not toward the exits, but toward the maintenance corridors behind the ticketing counters.

As we ran, the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers flooded the shattered front entrance of the station.

But they weren't police cars.

They were black SUVs.

Vincent Romano’s men poured into the terminal. They had tracked Marco, realizing he had fled the burning restaurant alone.

We reached the shadows of the maintenance hallway just as Vincent Romano stepped through the shattered glass doors.

He saw Marco staggering to his feet in the center of the terminal.

And then, Vincent looked down.

Resting on the floor, gleaming under the harsh station lights, was the silver rosary.

Vincent bent down. He picked it up.

From the shadows, I watched the old mafia don turn the crucifix over in his hand. I saw the exact moment he read the name engraved on the back.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. The man who had been his loyal attack dog for two decades was the same man who had murdered his wife.

Vincent slowly raised his head. His eyes locked onto Marco.

“Vincent, wait—” Marco pleaded, backing away, realizing the trap he had just fallen into.

Vincent didn't say a word. He simply raised his hand and pointed at Marco.

A dozen guns raised simultaneously.

Adrian pulled me deeper into the corridor, shielding me with his body as the terminal erupted into a deafening roar of gunfire.

Teresa Moretti had been right. The wolves were eating each other.

We ran through the service tunnels, navigating the dark labyrinth until we finally pushed open a heavy metal fire door.

We stumbled out into the freezing Chicago dawn.

The rain had stopped. The sky was bleeding a soft, bruised purple over the city skyline.

We collapsed against a brick wall in a deserted alleyway, gasping for air. The sound of the sirens was distant now. It was over.

I slid down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the night. My mother’s past, Nico’s sacrifice, Teresa’s brutal, brilliant chess game. It was finally finished.

Adrian stood over me, catching his breath. His ruined tuxedo was covered in plaster and soot, but the heavy, oppressive weight he had carried for fourteen years was gone.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope his mother had left for me. The one that had been inside the mahogany box.

He held it out.

“There was something else in the envelope,” Adrian said quietly.

I looked up. I took the heavy paper from his hand.

Inside the envelope, tucked behind the letter I had read, was a folded legal document.

I opened it.

It was a deed.

Property transfer: 1142 Halsted Street.

Transferred to: Kate Sarah Sullivan.

My breath caught in my throat.

1142 Halsted Street. The address of the old restaurant. The restaurant that had just burned to the ground.

“Marco owned the building,” Adrian explained softly, kneeling beside me in the alley. “But my mother owned the land. She put it in a trust fourteen years ago. The moment Marco died, the trust activated.”

He looked at the deed in my hands.