Chapter 5 - Into the Storm
The crawlspace was narrow, damp, and smelled of decaying leaves and river mud.
I crawled on my hands and knees through the dark, my fingers digging into the cold dirt, following the small, frantic shape of Lily moving ahead of me. The thunder roared overhead, masking the sound of our escape as we burst out from under the wooden foundation into the pouring rain along the steep embankment of the Ohio River.
The river was a swollen, black monster, its current churning violently against the mud banks.
Lily collapsed onto her knees near the water’s edge, drenched to the bone, her body shaking uncontrollably from cold and terror. I pulled her up into my arms, sheltering her under a thick overhang of willow trees.
Above us, searchlights suddenly flickered to life on the porch of the cabin. Silas’s men were fanning out, their flashlights cutting bright white beams through the falling rain.
“They’re coming,” I whispered to myself, looking around frantically for an escape.
We were stranded. No car. No phone. No weapons. Just a six-year-old deaf child, a stolen cedar box, and the terrifying knowledge that the man who killed my father was two hundred yards away.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from the dark brush beside the willow tree and grabbed my shoulder.
I almost screamed, but a firm palm clamped over my mouth instantly.
“Quiet,” a deep, rough voice commanded into my ear.
I looked up.
Matteo Varela stood in the shadows beneath the willow tree. His black shirt was torn, soaked with rain and dark blood along his ribs. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his face pale, but his eyes burned with an icy, terrifying fire.
Lily saw him and let out a soft, silent sob, throwing her tiny arms around his waist.
Matteo dropped to one knee, wrapping his massive arms around both of us, pulling us tightly against his broad chest. For five seconds, the ruthless mafia Don didn't care about the searchlights, the hitmen, or his bleeding wounds. He just held his daughter, resting his chin on top of her head, his chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths.
“Are you hurt?” he whispered, looking up at me.
“No,” I choked out. “Marco... Silas shot Marco.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened, a dark, lethal shadow passing across his face. “Marco is alive. He wearing a Kevlar vest under his coat. He’s already retreating toward our secondary backup unit.”
I let out a long, shuddering breath of relief.
“Did you find it?” Matteo asked, his eyes dropping to the bulge in Lily’s jacket.
I reached in and pulled out the metallic keycard, pressing it into his cold palm. “Vault 402. Bancorp International. My father kept the original ledgers. It proves Silas killed your father, Matteo. It proves everything.”
Matteo stared down at the keycard in his hand. His fingers closed around it so tightly I thought the plastic would snap.
“Five years,” Matteo murmured, his voice dropping into a tone so cold it made the rain feel warm. “Five years I called him uncle. Five years I shared my table with the man who murdered my father and stole my brother’s future.”
He looked up at me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that held me fast.
“Tomorrow morning, the Commission convenes in Chicago for the annual syndicate summit,” Matteo said quietly. “Silas thinks he’s going there to present his forged documents and have himself named Don of the Varela family.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
May you like
Matteo stood up, pulling me and Lily up with him.
“We are going to Chicago,” Matteo said, a dark, lethal smile touching his lips. “And we are going to bury a snake.”
