Chapter 4 - The Garage at Midnight
The world outside the basement doors was a blur of freezing sleet and rushing wind as Javier shoved me into the passenger seat of an unmarked sedan parked in the shadows of the estate’s delivery bay.
The engine roared to life instantly, tires spitting gravel as we launched out of the Moretti gates and onto the desolate Chicago highway. The digital clock on the dashboard glowed 3:45 AM.
“Daniel doesn't pick up his phone,” I cried, my fingers frantically dialing my brother’s number over and over, listening to the endless, agonizing rings until it hit voicemail. “Javier, please, go faster! If Rocco touches him—!”
“We’re moving as fast as the road will allow,” Javier said, his eyes glued to the dark asphalt ahead, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other kept his hand resting near his sidearm. “Carmine is already intercepting. He was closer to the southside district when the alert came through.”
“Carmine went after him alone?”
“Carmine is never alone,” Javier muttered grimly. “And Rocco just signed his own death warrant by involving family.”
My mind raced through a thousand terrifying scenarios. Daniel was just a kid—twenty-three years old, working fifty hours a week at a brake and transmission shop, dreaming of saving enough money to open his own garage. He didn't know about the Morettis. He didn't know about the black leather folder, the shipping ports, or the brutal underworld that operated in the shadows of the city he called home. If Rocco used him to get to me, my brother would be caught in the crossfire of a monster’s war.
The car tore off the highway, sliding slightly on the icy exit ramp before plunging into the gritty industrial grid of the southside.
Ten minutes later, the unmarked sedan screeched to a halt outside a dilapidated brick apartment complex with a flickering neon sign reading Oakridge Apartments.
Parked across the entrance was Rocco’s black luxury SUV, its driver’s side door hanging wide open, abandoned in the middle of the slush-covered lane.
Javier killed the headlights instantly. He drew his weapon, flicking off the safety with a sharp click.
“Stay in the car, Elena. Lock the doors. Do not move.”
“No,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “That’s my brother in there! I’m coming with you!”
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“Elena, listen to me—!”
I didn't wait. I shoved the door open and plunged out into the freezing sleet, my bare legs shivering instantly in my thin uniform skirt as I sprinted toward the open garage doors of the apartment building.
