Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the South Side
While Lena lay suspended between life and death, Marco did not rest.
He spent thirty-six hours without sleep, personally overseeing the total destruction of the Vasquez crime syndicate. Every warehouse, every shell corporation, every safehouse linked to Vasquez was raided, burned, or seized. Men who had aligned with Vasquez were hunted down in the streets until the remaining factions surrendered unconditionally to the Duca empire.
Chicago was cleansed in blood, but Marco felt no triumph. The rage inside him was an unquenchable furnace that fed on his own guilt.
On the third morning, Marco sat in the executive office of the Duca penthouse. Caruso’s second-in-command, a sharp, scarred man named Dominic, stepped inside, holding a thick leather folder.
"Boss," Dominic said quietly. "We ran a deep trace on Lena Carter like you asked. Everything we could find."
Marco looked up from his desk, his eyes bloodshot. "Speak."
Dominic opened the file. "Her real name is Helena Carter. Her father was an auto mechanic who died of cancer six years ago. Her mother abandoned the family when she was twelve. She worked two jobs through high school to support her younger brother, Daniel."
Marco leaned forward, his hands clasped. "Where is the brother now?"
"Daniel is twenty-one. He’s currently at St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center on the South Side," Dominic said, looking down at the notes. "He was injured in a hit-and-run three years ago. Paralyzed from the waist down, struggling with severe neurological damage and depression. The rehab center is expensive—twelve thousand dollars a month."
Marco’s heart tightened painfully. "Where was she getting the money?"
"Her entire salary from you," Dominic revealed. "She kept less than two hundred dollars a month for herself. She lived in a windowless basement apartment in Pilsen. She skipped meals. She walked three miles to work every morning because she couldn't afford the train fare after sending her check to the facility."
Dominic placed a stack of unpaid medical bills on Marco’s desk.
"The facility was threatening to evict her brother next week, Boss," Dominic added softly. "She was desperate. That’s why she took the job with your mother without asking for a raise, without complaining about the long hours, without ever making a sound."
Marco stared at the papers.
He remembered her words from the day he had humiliated her in the foyer: I came from a hospital, sir.
He had thought she was making excuses. He had thought she was weak.
In reality, she was bearing a crushing mountain of pain on her small shoulders, suffering in absolute, proud silence while he lived in luxury four floors above her.
"Dominic," Marco said, his voice flat, dangerously cold.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Buy St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center."
Dominic blinked. "Sir?"
"Buy the facility today," Marco ordered, standing up. "Transfer Daniel Carter to the private wing. Hire the top neurological specialists in the country to oversee his recovery. Clear all his bills. Pay off every debt his family has ever held."
"Right away, sir."
"And Dominic?" Marco added, stepping toward the door. "Bring my car around. I’m going to meet her brother."
An hour later, Marco’s armored sedan pulled up outside the brick gates of St. Jude’s.
Marco walked through the sterile hallways until he reached Room 114. Through the small glass window, he saw a thin young man sitting in a wheelchair by the window, staring out at the grey, rainy sky with hollow, defeated eyes.
Marco pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Danny Carter turned his head, his brow furrowing as he took in the tall, imposing man in a black tailored suit surrounded by two armed guards in the hallway.
"Who are you?" Danny asked guardedly. "Are you from the collection agency?"
Marco stood at the foot of the bed. For the first time in his life, the boss of Chicago felt small.
"My name is Marco Duca," he said softly. "Your sister works for me."
Danny’s expression changed instantly. Concern flashed across his pale face. "Lena? Is she okay? She usually calls me every morning at eight. I’ve been trying her phone for three days, but it goes straight to voicemail."
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Marco swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. He walked over to the chair beside Danny and sat down, bowing his head.
"Your sister is a hero, Daniel," Marco whispered. "And she is fighting for her life."
