Chapter 6 - The Shadows of Detroit
Saturday morning broke over Chicago in a blanket of pale, freezing fog.
Inside the command center of the Marlowe estate—a windowless room on the basement level filled with glowing monitors, radio receivers, and tactical maps—Sebastian sat in a dark leather chair.
Owen Price stood beside him, dropping a thick folder onto the steel desk.
“We ran the driver from the gray Taurus,” Owen reported, his tone grim. “Name’s Frankie 'The Needle' Varga. Low-level enforcer for the Moretti family out of East Detroit. He’s been in Chicago for six days.”
Sebastian flipped through the surveillance photos. “Who paid his hotel bill?”
“A shell corporation registered in Nevada,” Owen said. “We traced the bank wire back through three offshore accounts. The ultimate source of the funds was an account at Lakeshore Community Bank.”
Sebastian’s head snapped up. His eyes narrowed to sharp slits. “Lakeshore Community Bank? The same bank that holds the mortgage on Hannah’s bakery?”
“The very same,” Owen confirmed. “And guess who sits on the regional advisory board for Lakeshore Community Bank?”
Sebastian didn't need to guess. “Julian.”
“Bingo,” Owen said, pointing to a document in the folder. “Julian’s been using his board seat to flag distressed small-business properties along Grand Avenue. He’s been forcing foreclosures on commercial buildings, buying them up through dummy corporations for pennies on the dollar, and then transferring the titles to the Moretti family as payment for his gambling debts.”
The room went deadly quiet.
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with terrifying clarity.
It wasn't just an ambush against Sebastian’s freight routes. Julian had been selling out the city, block by block, to a rival syndicate from Detroit to cover his unpayable debts. And Hannah’s bakery—the narrow brick storefront her father had built—was next on the list.
The Moretti family didn't just happen to spot Hannah helping Celeste on Clark Street. They were already watching Second Rise Bakery because Julian had promised them the deed to the property by Monday evening.
“They wanted the land,” Sebastian whispered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests of his chair. “The entire block on Grand Avenue sits directly above the old underground freight tunnel system connecting to the rail yards. If Moretti gets those buildings, they control a private, untraceable smuggling corridor directly into the heart of Chicago.”
Owen nodded gravely. “And Hannah’s building is the entry point. The main access shaft runs directly beneath her basement floor.”
Sebastian stood up slowly. The air in the command center felt charged with violent electricity.
“Where is Julian right now?” Sebastian asked, his voice drops to a lethal register.
“He’s meeting with Santo Moretti at a private suite at the Drake Hotel at two o'clock today,” Owen replied. “They’re finalizing the transfer papers for the Grand Avenue properties.”
Sebastian reached for his suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair.
“Assemble the primary team,” Sebastian ordered, sliding his arms into the sleeves. “We are going to pay my cousin a visit.”
“What about Ms. Mercer?” Owen asked.
May you like
Sebastian paused, his hand resting on his phone. He thought of Hannah standing by the window last night, her auburn hair catching the firelight, her eyes blazing with fierce, uncompromising pride as she refused his money.
“Keep her here,” Sebastian commanded softly. “Protect her with your life. If anything happens to that woman, Owen, there is no place on earth you can hide from me.”
