Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Cicero
The rain had turned Chicago into a grey, watery labyrinth.
Tessa sprinted down a narrow industrial corridor two blocks away from her apartment, her lungs burning, her sneakers soaked through, and Julian clutched tightly against her chest. The boy was half-conscious, his arms wrapped securely around her neck, whispering terrified fragments into her ear.
"They're going to find us," Julian sobbed quietly.
"They won't," Tessa panted, ducking behind a row of large commercial dumpsters behind a shuttered auto-repair shop. "I promise you, they won't."
She needed shelter, and she needed it fast. Her apartment was compromised; Arthur’s men would have the neighborhood locked down within minutes. Going to the police was suicide. Ali’s Diner was too close to her old place.
There was only one person in Chicago Tessa trusted, and that was a dangerous gamble in itself.
Marcus Vance.
Not related to Arthur Vance, despite the shared surname, Marcus was an old-school mechanic who operated a sprawling, semi-legal salvage yard on the industrial outskirts of Cicero. He was a man who owed Tessa’s late father a massive debt of honor, and he had spent forty years ignoring the various criminal factions operating in the city.
Forty-five minutes later, soaked to the bone and shivering violently, Tessa banged frantically on the heavy corrugated steel door of Vance’s Auto Salvage.
The small side door creaked open. A shotgun barrel emerged first, followed by the weathered, scarred face of a sixty-year-old man with grease-stained fingers and sharp, suspicious eyes.
Marcus blinked, lowering the weapon slightly as he recognized her.
"Tessa? What in God's name are you doing out here looking like a drowned rat?" Marcus growled, his eyes darting immediately to the child in her arms. When he saw Julian’s face, the bruised eye, and the expensive, mud-stained cashmere coat, Marcus’s expression hardened instantly. "Aw, hell. Tell me you didn't bring Moretti trouble to my door."
"I didn't have a choice, Marcus," Tessa pleaded, stepping past him into the warm, oily sanctuary of the garage. The smell of gasoline, metal shavings, and old coffee filled the air. "Arthur Moretti is hunting him. They tried to kill him on the expressway, and now Arthur's cleaning house. If we stay out there, we're dead."
Marcus closed and bolted the steel door behind them, throwing three heavy deadbolts into place. He walked over to a small space heater in the corner, gesturing for Tessa and Julian to sit on a couple of old milk crates near the warmth.
"You realize who you're messing with, don't you?" Marcus said, rubbing his rough jaw as he looked down at Julian. "Silas Moretti rules the city. If his boy is alive, why is Arthur hunting him? Why hasn't Silas torn the city apart looking for him?"
"Because Arthur is hiding it from him," Tessa said, catching her breath. "Julian said it himself before he passed out: 'Don't let Uncle Arthur sign it.' Arthur staged the crash. He wants to take over the empire. If Silas thinks his son is dead, he’ll be vulnerable. Arthur will consolidate power, and then he’ll finish the job."
Marcus stared at her for a long, tense moment. He walked over to his workbench, picked up a greasy wrench, and tossed it back down with a heavy clatter.
"If Silas Moretti finds out we had his son and didn't bring him straight to him, he’ll skin us alive," Marcus warned. "And if Arthur finds us first, he won't even bother skinning us."
"Then we don't give Julian to Arthur," Tessa said fiercely, her eyes locking onto the older mechanic. "We get Julian to Silas."
"Are you insane? Silas Moretti is a ghost. You don't just walk up to his fortress in Lake Forest and knock on the front door. You get a bullet between your eyes before you cross the gate."
"Unless we have proof," Tessa countered. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the heavy gold signet ring with the wolf and thorn vines, setting it down on the greasy workbench with a dull metallic thud. "This was around his neck. It’s Silas’s personal signet. It’s proof that Julian is alive, and proof of who took him."
Marcus picked up the ring, turning it over in his calloused palm. The candlelight caught the intricate engraving. A slow, grim smile touched the corners of his mouth.
"Well, I'll be damned," Marcus muttered. "You really stepped right into the lion's den, didn't you, kid?"
Before Tessa could answer, a loud, metallic crash echoed from the front of the salvage yard.
The unmistakable sound of a heavy vehicle ramming through the front security gates.
May you like
Marcus’s head whipped toward the security monitors mounted above his workbench. On the grainy black-and-white screen, two black Escalades sat idling in the middle of his wrecked yard, their headlights cutting blinding beams through the foggy night.
And stepping out of the lead vehicle, adjusting his cuffs with absolute calm, was Arthur Moretti.
