Chapter 5 - The Gathering Shadows
The morning after Sullivan Castellano walked out of her apartment, Hollis Brennan did not go to work. She couldn't.
When she walked down to the lobby of Halloran Tower at 6:00 AM to hand in her mop and keys, her supervisor, a sweat-stained man named Briggs, didn't even look her in the eye. He simply handed her a final paycheck and said, "Orders from the top, Hollis. You're a liability. Don't come back."
She knew who the 'top' was. It wasn't Sullivan. It was Victor Castellano, pulling the strings of the city’s corporate real estate to punish the woman who had disrupted his clean extraction of Wynn.
Hollis sat on the steps of her apartment building, the thin paycheck clutched in her hand, watching the snow begin to fall again over the gray Chicago streets. She had eighty-four dollars to her name, a month’s rent due in two weeks, and a five-year-old daughter who needed fresh milk and warm boots.
"Mama?" Posy asked, sitting beside her, her small boots tapping against the stone step. "Are we poor again?"
Hollis pulled her daughter close, kissing the top of her cold nose. "We’ve always been poor, sweetheart. We’re just... between jobs right now. Don't worry. I’ll find something else. I always do."
But as she looked down the street, she noticed a long, black town car parked across from the deli. The windows were completely tinted, the exhaust pipe blowing small white plumes of steam into the winter air. Inside, she could see the silhouette of a man watching her door.
Sullivan’s men. They were exactly where he said they would be.
By mid-afternoon, the temperature dropped significantly, the wind coming off Lake Michigan turning the falling snow into a blinding sheet of white ice. Hollis was inside, trying to boil a small pot of potatoes, when the buzzer for apartment fourteen rang.
She walked to the intercom with a heavy sense of dread. "Yes?"
"Miss Brennan," a polite, unfamiliar voice spoke through the scratchy speaker. "This is Marcus, Mr. Castellano’s personal coordinator. There is a vehicle waiting for you downstairs. Mr. Castellano requests your presence at the South District estate."
"I told him I don't want his money," Hollis said into the plastic box. "I’m not a part of his family business."
"This isn't about money, Miss Brennan," Marcus replied, his tone perfectly level, yet carrying a subtle, urgent warning. "Two hours ago, Victor Castellano’s men intercepted the shipping logs at the main port terminal. They’re looking for the original copy of the probate documents. They’ve already broken into three properties associated with anyone who helped Wynn. Your name is on their list. If you stay in that apartment tonight, you won't make it to morning. Please. For your daughter's sake."
Hollis looked at the small pot of potatoes on the stove, then at Posy, who was drawing a picture of a star on the foggy windowpane. The reality of her situation hit her with the force of a tidal wave. She was a single mother with no resources, caught in the crosshairs of a multi-million-dollar syndicate war. She didn't have the luxury of pride anymore.
"Give me ten minutes," she said.
She packed light—one suitcase with her clothes, Posy’s few toys, and the star-patterned blanket. She locked the door of apartment fourteen, knowing in her heart she would never see it again, and walked down the stairs into the blinding snow.
The ride to the South District was silent. The town car moved smoothly through the white storm, turning past the industrial warehouses of the shipping ports and entering a private, walled compound that faced the dark expanse of the frozen lake. The Castellano estate was an old stone manor, built in the 1920s, looking like a fortress designed to withstand both time and artillery.
When the car doors opened, two guards with umbrellas escorted Hollis and Posy through the massive oak doors into a grand entryway lined with dark walnut paneling and crystal chandeliers.
Sullivan Castellano was standing by a roaring stone fireplace at the end of the hall, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. Beside him sat Wynn, wrapped in a thick cashmere sweater, her color completely returned, looking healthy and safe.
"You came," Sullivan said, turning his frost-colored eyes toward Hollis.
"I didn't have a choice," Hollis said, her voice echoing in the vast space. "Your uncle fired me from my job and threatened my home. If I’m going to be a target because I saved your sister, the least you can do is give my daughter a warm room to stay in."
Sullivan walked over to them, his movements slow and deliberate. He stopped before Posy, who was staring up at the massive crystal chandelier with wide-eyed wonder. He knelt down, bringing himself to the little girl’s eye level.
"Welcome to my home, Posy," the Iron King said, his voice dropping into a tone that was remarkably gentle, completely devoid of the ice that usually defined him. "The kitchen has a chef who makes chocolate chip cookies that are much better than oatmeal. Would you like to try one?"
May you like
Posy looked at her mother, waited for Hollis’s nod, and then gave Sullivan a big smile. "Yes, please. With extra chocolate?"
"As many as you can eat," Sullivan promised, a genuine, faint smile touching his sharp lips. He looked up at Hollis, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Your daughter is safe here, Miss Brennan. And so are you. Victor thinks he can clear you from the board like a loose pawn. He doesn't realize I’m about to overturn the table."
