Chapter 1 - Into the Lion’s Den
The rain over Lake Michigan did not fall; it threw itself against the concrete of the harbor like a physical threat.
Nathan Russo pulled his collar up against the biting wind. The Chicago docks at 3:00 AM were a wasteland of rusting shipping containers and rotting timber, illuminated only by the sickly orange glow of distant industrial cranes. Beside him, Caleb checked the cylinder of his revolver with a quiet, practiced click.
"We don't have backup coming for another twenty minutes, Boss," Caleb muttered, his breath blooming in the frigid air. "If Mercer's got a full crew in there, we're walking into a slaughterhouse."
"We don't have twenty minutes," Nathan said. His voice was flatter than the lake. He pulled Evelyn Carter’s crumpled photograph from his pocket, shielding it from the rain with his palm. "The girls said Mercer mentioned buyers. In our world, buyers don't like to wait, and they don't like damaged goods. If he thinks we're closing in, he’ll move her or end her. We go now."
They slipped through the shadow of a rusted gantry crane. Ahead, the warehouse sat like a sleeping beast. Above the heavy iron gates, a broken blue sign creaked in the wind: Midwest Marine Logistics. Hanging from a rusted bracket beside the door was a heavy brass marine bell.
Nathan signaled Caleb to take the rear exit while he approached the heavy metal door of the main office. Instead of picking the lock, Nathan raised his heavy leather-shod boot and kicked the door right at the latch. The frame splintered with a sound like a gunshot, lost in the roar of the thunder.
Inside, the air smelled of stale diesel, wet cardboard, and old grease. Nathan moved like a shadow, his hand resting on the grip of the custom Walther PPK tucked into his shoulder holster.
"Who’s there?!" a voice shouted from the darkness of the main warehouse floor.
Two men stepped out from behind a stack of wooden crates, flashlights cutting through the gloom. They weren't low-level street thugs; they wore tactical jackets and carried short-barreled shotguns.
"Russo," one of them gasped, recognizing the towering silhouette and the flash of the silver ring on Nathan's left hand.
May you like
Before the man could raise his weapon, Nathan closed the distance. He grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, twisting it upward as it discharged into the rafters. With a brutal left hook, Nathan shattered the man’s jaw, sending him crashing into a stack of steel drums. The second guard lunged, but Caleb materialized from the shadows behind him, wrapping a heavy forearm around the man's throat until he went limp.
Nathan adjusted his cuffs, his eyes scanning the cavernous room. "Search the offices," he commanded. "Find the mother."
