Chapter 7 - The Safehouse in the Woods
The rain started as a light drizzle over the Chicago skyline and turned into a heavy, blinding downpour by the time Marcus's unmarked sedan turned off the interstate onto a secluded gravel road sixty miles north of the city.
According to Leo’s encrypted tracking of Adrian’s secondary burner phone—which Leo had secretly pinged before the local servers wiped—Adrian hadn't been taken to a standard safehouse or a luxury penthouse. He had been brought to an old, abandoned lumber mill on the edge of the Fox River, a private property historically owned by the DeLuca family before they went legitimate.
It was where Adrian went when he needed to bleed in private.
Marcus cut the headlights a hundred yards before the rusted iron gates of the mill. The sprawling, decaying brick structure loomed against the stormy night sky like a jagged monument to forgotten power. A single black SUV was parked near the loading dock, its engine ticking quietly in the rain.
"If Judge Vance's men brought him here, there's a security detail inside," Marcus whispered, checking the magazine of his sidearm in the dim glow of the dashboard. "We go in through the lower timber chute, or we don't go in at all."
"We don't need a tactical breach, Marcus," I said, reaching for the door handle.
Marcus grabbed my arm, his grip firm. "Evelyn, be reasonable. Adrian is a violent, cornered criminal who just had his entire life ripped away in twenty-four hours. He has every reason to hurt you."
"He won't," I said, looking into Marcus's tired, protective eyes. "Because Adrian's anger has never been directed at me. It was always directed at his own impotence. And right now, he's realizing that Lily and her father didn't rescue him tonight—they took away the last illusion he had of being in control."
I stepped out into the freezing rain, the heavy silk of my wedding gown instantly soaking through and clinging to my ankles. I didn't care. I walked past the rusting iron gates, my heels crunching against the wet gravel, leaving Marcus no choice but to follow close behind with his weapon drawn.
The heavy wooden side door of the mill was unlocked, swinging slightly in the wind.
We slipped inside into the cavernous, echoing darkness. The air smelled of damp cedar, rust, and old motor oil. In the center of the vast, open floor, illuminated by a single dangling overhead work light, a single wooden chair sat on the concrete.
Adrian was sitting in it.
His custom wedding tuxedo was ruined, stained with mud and rainwater. His hands were uncuffed, but he sat slumped forward, his elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. He didn't look like the terrifying head of the DeLuca crime family. He looked hollowed out—a ghost haunting a house of cards.
When our footsteps echoed across the concrete floor, Adrian didn't even look up.
"I told you, Lily," Adrian’s voice rasped, flat and devoid of life. "I don't have the offshore passcodes anymore. The feds have the primaries, and your father has the rest. Just finish it."
I stopped ten feet away from him. Marcus stayed back near the shadows of the doorway, watching every muscle in Adrian's body.
"It's not Lily," I said.
Adrian’s head snapped up. When he saw me standing there in the ruins of my wedding dress, bruised by the rain yet standing completely upright, his bloodshot eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
"Evelyn?" he breathed, scrambling out of the chair as if he had seen a phantom. He took two staggering steps toward me, his face twisting between rage and a desperate, pathetic confusion. "How are you here? My men... Judge Vance's team said you were locked down—"
May you like
"Your men work for Judge Vance, Adrian," I interrupted, my voice cutting through the damp air like a blade. "And Judge Vance’s daughter isn't your childhood friend. She’s your liquidator."
---
