Chapter 4 - Forty-Eight Hours Until They Came for Me
My mother’s music box sat in a storage unit on the north side of Chicago.
At least, I prayed it did.
Dante refused to let me go alone.
I refused to let him stop me.
That was how, at two in the morning, Chicago’s most feared man ended up sitting beside me in the back of an armored SUV while I wore Gabriel’s sister’s sneakers, an oversized gray sweatshirt, and the same black dress from the Black Vault underneath.
Rachel followed in another vehicle.
Two federal agents trailed us.
None of that made me feel safer.
Because if I was right, the storage unit held enough evidence to destroy dangerous men.
If I was wrong, somebody had already taken it.
Dante watched the streets.
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“How completely insane my life became in three hours.”
“That’s reasonable.”
I looked at him.
“Do you always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like every sentence has been reviewed by a lawyer.”
He almost smiled.
“Occupational habit.”
“What exactly is your occupation?”
“You already have an opinion.”
“I have rumors.”
“Those are usually more interesting.”
I turned toward the window.
For a man whose name frightened entire rooms, Dante was infuriatingly difficult to categorize.
He had kissed me without permission.
Then apologized.
He had claimed me publicly.
Then made it clear the words did not give him rights over me.
He seemed to command criminals and federal agents in equal measure while belonging fully to neither.
I did not trust him.
The problem was that part of me wanted to.
That frightened me more than the men from the Black Vault.
We reached the storage facility at 2:26 a.m.
Rachel met us outside.
“Unit number?”
“318.”
One agent stayed near the entrance.
Another checked the hallway.
My hands shook while I entered the access code.
It still worked.
The metal door rolled upward.
Boxes.
Old furniture.
A broken lamp.
My mother’s sewing machine.
And on the back shelf, beneath a dusty blanket, sat a wooden music box painted with faded roses.
I stopped breathing.
My mother had died when I was fourteen.
Ovarian cancer.
She loved music.
My father could never afford expensive gifts, but one Christmas he found that box at an estate sale.
After she died, he kept it on his dresser.
When I turned twelve, he gave it to me and said, “Every house needs one girl who remembers the music.”
I had thought he meant my mother.
Maybe he did.
I stepped forward.
Dante caught my shoulder.
“Wait.”
A federal agent swept the unit.
Nothing.
Rachel nodded.
I lifted the box.
It felt heavier than I remembered.
I wound the tiny brass key.
The melody still played.
Soft.
Thin.
Painfully familiar.
For a second I was fourteen again, sitting beside my mother’s hospital bed while she hummed the same tune.
My eyes burned.
Dante looked away, giving me privacy without leaving.
I appreciated that more than I wanted to.
Then I turned the music box over.
There were four screws beneath the felt bottom.
One looked newer.
“Do you have a screwdriver?”
Dante reached into a drawer beside the storage shelf.
I stared at him.
“What?”
He held up a small toolkit.
“Your father apparently stored tools.”
“Of course he did.”
Five minutes later, the bottom panel lifted.
Inside was a plastic sleeve.
Rachel exhaled.
Dante went still.
I pulled it out.
Not a ledger.
A flash drive.
And a folded piece of paper.
My name was written across the front.
Elena.
My father’s handwriting.
My hands started shaking.
Rachel stepped back.
“This is yours.”
I unfolded it.
Elena,
If you are reading this, then I failed to fix what I broke.
There are things a father should never ask his child to forgive.
I lied to you about money. I used your trust. I put your name on papers you did not understand because I was drowning and too ashamed to admit it.
I told myself I would repair everything before you ever knew.
That was the lie gamblers tell themselves.
One more win. One more day. One more chance.
Then I learned the men I owed weren’t only collecting money.
They were collecting people.
I helped them move money without asking questions. When I finally asked, I learned what my work had paid for.
I copied what I could.
If Victor finds out you have this, he will come for you.
I am sorry that my last useful act as your father is creating one more danger for you.
Trust Rachel Bennett.
And if Dante Moretti is standing beside you, tell him I remembered what he said.
A man is not what people call him.
He is what he protects when nobody is watching.
I hope he became the man he claimed he wanted to be.
You deserved a better father.
I loved you badly, Elena.
But I loved you.
Dad
I lowered the page.
Nobody spoke.
Tears blurred the storage unit.
I hated my father.
I missed my father.
I wanted to scream at him.
I wanted one more morning at his kitchen table.
Grief was cruel like that.
It refused to choose one emotion.
Dante stood several feet away.
His face had changed.
“What did he mean?” I asked.
He knew which sentence.
Rachel quietly took the flash drive to an agent.
Dante remained still.
“Elena—”
“What did you tell my father?”
He looked down the hallway.
“Not here.”
I stepped closer.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because people are trying to kill you.”
“And I’m getting tired of almost dying without explanations.”
That earned the smallest smile.
It disappeared immediately.
“All right.”
He sat on an overturned crate.
I stayed standing.
“My father worked for Victor?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And you?”
Dante’s eyes held mine.
“My father worked with Victor.”
There it was.
The first crack in the polished surface.
“When I was twenty-two, my older brother was killed during a dispute between their organizations.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t.”
The answer surprised me.
“He had become cruel. He hurt people because he could. For years, I thought power meant nobody could hurt you.”
Dante looked at his hands.
“Then I realized power usually meant people were simply afraid to tell you what you had become.”
I sat across from him.
“What happened?”
“I inherited businesses, debts, enemies, and a name people feared.”
“And you kept them.”
“The businesses, some of them. The enemies, unfortunately. The reputation was useful.”
“Were the rumors true?”
His eyes lifted.
“Some.”
That honesty chilled me.
“Did you hurt people?”
“Yes.”
“Kill people?”
He paused.
“I have done things I would not ask you to excuse.”
The air changed between us.
I appreciated the lack of performance.
No claim of innocence.
No glamorous speech about honor.
Just consequence.
“Then why help the FBI?”
“Because Victor started using systems my father helped build to prey on people who had no way to fight back.”
“Like me.”
“Yes.”
“And suddenly you developed a conscience?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
“I always had one. I was simply very good at ignoring it.”
I studied him.
“Why did my father trust you?”
“He didn’t.”
“But he came to you.”
“He was desperate.”
“What did you say to him?”
Dante looked toward the music box.
“I told him if he gave me proof, I would make sure you were protected.”
“Why?”
He did not answer.
Something in his silence made me uncomfortable.
“Dante.”
His jaw tightened.
“I had seen you before.”
My stomach fluttered unexpectedly.
“Where?”
“St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
“Three years ago. Your father had surgery.”
I remembered.
Gallbladder.
I had spent three nights sleeping in a plastic chair.
“You were there?”
“My aunt was dying two floors above.”
“Oh.”
“You were in the cafeteria at four in the morning arguing with a vending machine.”
I stared at him.
Dante’s mouth moved slightly.
“You lost.”
“I remember that vending machine.”
“You kicked it.”
“I was tired.”
“You called it an extortionist.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
The sound felt strange.
Good.
Then I noticed the way he was looking at me.
Not possessively.
Not like the men downstairs at the Black Vault.
Like he was remembering sunlight from a place he had lived too long without it.
“You remembered me?”
“Yes.”
“For three years?”
“Yes.”
“That’s either romantic or deeply concerning.”
“Probably concerning.”
I laughed again.
Then Rachel returned.
All humor disappeared from her face.
“We have a problem.”
She held the flash drive.
“Encrypted?”
“No.”
“Empty?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“It contains transaction records, video, names, account numbers, and internal communications.”
“That sounds good.”
“It would be.”
Rachel looked at Dante.
“If one of the names wasn’t Deputy Director Alan Cross.”
Dante stood.
“FBI?”
Rachel nodded.
“My supervisor’s supervisor.”
Cold crawled across my skin.
“So someone inside the investigation works for Victor?”
“Possibly.”
“Which means?”
Rachel looked toward the entrance.
“It means we don’t know which federal team members we can trust.”
As if summoned by the words, a vehicle engine roared outside.
One of the agents touched his earpiece.
Then his expression changed.
“Three SUVs entering the lot.”
Dante moved immediately.
“Rachel, lights off.”
Darkness swallowed the unit.
Gabriel appeared at the corridor entrance.
“Back exit?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Locked from outside after midnight.”
Dante looked at the rows of units.
“There’s a maintenance stairwell through Section D.”
I clutched my father’s letter.
“How do you know?”
“I bought this facility four years ago.”
I stared at him.
“Of course you did.”
“Later.”
Footsteps echoed downstairs.
Men shouted.
Rachel drew her weapon.
Dante looked at me.
“Stay between Gabriel and me.”
“No heroic nonsense.”
“That was going to be my line.”
We moved through darkness.
My heart pounded so loudly I thought everyone could hear it.
At Section D, Gabriel forced open a maintenance door.
A siren began screaming.
We descended two flights.
Then a voice echoed from above.
“Elena!”
I froze.
Dante pushed me behind him.
The voice came again.
A familiar voice.
“Ms. Reyes, it’s Marco!”
My blood went cold.
“Don’t move,” Dante whispered.
Marco appeared at the top of the stairwell.
He held no weapon.
His hands were raised.
“I’m not here to hurt her.”
Rachel aimed at him.
“Down on your knees.”
Marco obeyed.
“Victor knows you found the drive.”
“How?” Rachel demanded.
“Cross told him.”
Dante’s face went dark.
Marco continued quickly.
“You have maybe twenty minutes before every dirty cop and federal contact Victor owns knows where you are.”
“Why warn us?” I asked.
Marco looked at me.
“Because I hired you tonight.”
“I know.”
His face twisted with guilt.
“I was supposed to deliver you.”
Dante stepped forward.
Marco flinched.
“But I didn’t know what he planned to do once he got the ledger.”
“What did he plan?”
Marco looked directly at me.
“Kill you.”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
Marco swallowed.
“He doesn’t need the debt anymore. He just needs the last person who can explain where the evidence came from gone.”
I gripped my father’s letter.
Rachel asked, “Where is Victor?”
Marco hesitated.
Then answered.
“Preparing to leave Chicago.”
Dante narrowed his eyes.
“When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“From where?”
Marco looked at me.
“The Black Vault.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“The second auction.”
Marco nodded.
“But this one isn’t for paintings.”
A horrible understanding settled across Rachel’s face.
“What is it for?”
Marco looked sick.
“Names.”
He glanced at the flash drive.
“Victor is selling the identities of every witness, officer, informant, and family member connected to the investigation.”
My chest tightened.
Including me.
Including Rachel.
Maybe Dante.
Marco continued.
“If you want to stop him, tomorrow night is your only chance.”
Dante shook his head.
“No.”
Rachel looked at him.
“It may be our best opportunity.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the plan.”
“I don’t need to.”
He turned toward me.
“Elena is finished.”
Anger flared instantly.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not going back there.”
“You don’t decide that.”
“Victor wants you dead.”
“He already wanted me dead tonight.”
“That is exactly my point.”
“And mine.”
I stepped toward him.
“My father spent his last months trying to expose these people. He failed me in a hundred ways, but he finally tried to do one thing right.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
My voice shook, but I kept going.
“I spent eight months terrified because men like Victor decided my life belonged to them. Then you walked into that room and told them I belonged to you instead.”
His face changed.
“I told you that was—”
“I know why you did it.”
I stepped closer.
“But tomorrow night, nobody claims me.”
The stairwell became silent.
“I walk back into that room because I choose to.”
Dante stared at me.
“You could die.”
“So could you.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
His answer came quietly.
“Because I have already spent years becoming somebody I don’t particularly care to save.”
My anger vanished.
For one dangerous second, I saw behind everything.
Not the mafia boss.
Not the reputation.
A man carrying more guilt than he knew where to put.
I stepped closer.
“Then maybe stop deciding you’re disposable.”
Dante did not move.
Neither did I.
Finally, Rachel broke the silence.
“We survive tonight first.”
Dante looked away.
Gabriel opened the maintenance exit.
Cold Chicago air rushed in.
We slipped into the alley one by one.
I thought the decision had been made.
I thought tomorrow night we would return together.
Then Dante’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
And every trace of color left his face.
“Where?”
A pause.
“When?”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
Dante looked at Rachel.
“Victor took someone.”
“Who?”
His eyes returned to me.
“My sister.”
And suddenly tomorrow night was no longer only about evidence.
May you like
It was personal.
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