Chapter 7 - The Reckoning at River North
The rain over the River North rail yards beat down like lead shot against the corrugated tin roofs of the old warehouses.
Inside the luxury penthouse overlooking the tracks, Liam Prescott was pouring his fifth glass of scotch. His hand shook so violently the amber liquid sloshed over the granite counter.
His face was a grotesque collage of yellow and violet bruises where Dominic had broken his cheekbone the previous night. Every breath he took rattled in his cracked ribs.
“He’s going to kill me,” Liam muttered to the two armed guards Julian Cross had assigned to the apartment. “You don't understand who Vale is! He’s not a businessman! He’s an executioner!”
One of the guards, a bulky man chewing gum, scoffed. “Relax, trust-fund. Vale doesn't make messy moves. Mr. Cross has the whole Chicago PD monitoring his cars. If Vale even steps out of his office, Cross gets the alert.”
The power cut out instantly.
The chandelier, the under-cabinet lighting, the air conditioning—everything died into absolute, pitch-black silence.
The only illumination came from the lightning flashing outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“What the hell?” the guard reached for his sidearm.
A muted *thwip-thwip* sounded through the front door.
Two tiny holes appeared in the reinforced wood. The guard chewing gum collapsed without a sound, a dark crimson flower blossoming across his forehead.
The second guard scrambled for cover behind the sofa, but the front door didn't open—the entire lock mechanism blew inward with a concussive flash of a breaching charge.
Two men in charcoal coats stepped through the smoke, followed by Dominic Vale.
Dominic carried no weapon in his hands. He wore leather gloves, his overcoat unbuttoned, stepping over the threshold with the measured stride of an owner inspecting an overdue lease.
The second guard raised his pistol from behind the sofa. Dominic didn't even flinch.
A silent shot from the operative beside Dominic clipped the guard’s shoulder, sending his weapon spinning across the hardwood. The guard screamed, clutching his shattered collarbone.
Liam backed away until his shoulders hit the glass balcony door. He fell onto his rear, scrambling backward like a crab, his whiskey glass shattering beside him.
“No… no, please!” Liam shrieked, his voice climbing an octave. “Vale! Dominic! It was Cross! Cross found me in Seattle! He paid off my markers! He told me she was working for you, that she stole from his family! I didn’t know she was carrying your kid!”
Dominic walked across the room, his boots crunching over the broken glass.
He stopped three feet from Liam.
Dominic knelt, resting one forearm on his knee, looking down at the shivering, pathetic man who had dared to wrap his fingers around Sophia’s throat.
“You didn’t know,” Dominic repeated softly.
“I swear to God! I swear on my mother’s life!” Liam was weeping, mucus and tears mixing with the blood on his swollen lip. “I just wanted her back! She left me with nothing!”
Dominic reached out with a gloved hand and gently took Liam by the collar of his expensive shirt, pulling him forward until Liam could smell the faint scent of rain and bergamot on Dominic’s lapels.
“She didn't leave you with nothing, Liam,” Dominic whispered into his ear. “She left you with your life. And you were too stupid to keep it.”
“Please—”
“You touched my wife’s throat,” Dominic continued, his voice dropping into a register of hypnotic terror. “You left bruises on the woman who carries my child. You let Julian Cross use you like a dog on a leash.”
Dominic stood up, dragging Liam to his feet with effortless, terrifying strength, and shoved him hard against the glass railing of the balcony.
The drop behind Liam was thirty stories down into the churning, muddy waters of the Chicago River.
Liam screamed, clutching Dominic’s wrists, his feet dangling over the void, rain lashing against his terrified face.
“I won’t kill you tonight, Liam,” Dominic said, his eyes blazing in the dark. “Because death is quick. And Sophia asked me not to become a monster.”
Liam sobbed with relief. “Thank you… thank you—”
“Instead,” Dominic said, leaning in close, “you are going to call Julian Cross right now. You are going to tell him that Sophia Mercer agreed to meet him at the Drake Hotel tomorrow night to negotiate her freedom. And if you stutter, if you whisper, if you deviate by one syllable from the script Caleb hands you…”
Dominic tilted Liam another two inches over the abyss.
May you like
“I will let go.”
***