Chapter 5 - A Sister's Rescue
The black SUV tore through the wet, deserted streets of Lincoln Park at ninety miles an hour, ignoring every red light. Victor sat in the passenger seat, his eyes glued to the GPS monitor while Marco drove with relentless focus. In the back, four heavily armed men prepped flashbang grenades and suppressed sidearms.
“Racine Avenue coming up in thirty seconds,” Marco reported, cutting the headlights as they turned into a tree-lined residential street.
The target was an unassuming three-story brick brownstone. A single dim light burned on the top floor behind drawn wooden blinds. Victor checked his watch: 2:15 AM. Liam Gallagher’s execution order for Claire was set for sunrise, which meant the guards upstairs were still lounging, completely unaware that their entire dock operation had just been annihilated.
Victor didn't wait for a tactical perimeter. The thought of Audrey lying in their bed, terrorized by the thought of her younger sister’s death, drove him forward like a battering ram.
He led the team up the rear fire escape, bypassing the alarmed front entryway. Reaching the third-floor balcony, Marco picked the French lock in less than ten seconds. They slipped into the dark hallway like wraiths.
Inside the kitchen, two Gallagher enforcers were sitting around a card table, half-empty beer bottles and loaded pistols resting beside a box of cold pizza. The moment the wooden door flew inward, the first guard reached for his weapon. Victor’s suppressed pistol coughed twice. The guard slumped forward over the table without making a sound.
The second guard attempted to scramble toward the adjoining bedroom, but Victor crossed the room in two blinding strides, slamming the man’s face into the granite countertop, disarming him, and breaking his collarbone with a single downward strike.
“Where is the girl?” Victor growled, his boot planted firmly on the man’s throat.
The guard pointed frantically toward the utility closet beside the pantry.
Marco kicked the closet door open. Huddled inside, bound with heavy zip-ties and gagged with industrial tape, was Claire Caldwell. Her nursing uniform was torn, her blonde hair matted with sweat, and her eyes wide with unadulterated terror.
Victor holstered his weapon and immediately knelt beside her, his expression softening instantly. He gently peeled the tape from her lips and sliced through the plastic bindings with his pocketknife.
“Claire,” Victor said gently. “It’s Victor. You’re safe. Audrey sent me.”
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Claire collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically into his leather jacket. “They said... they said Audrey was dead! They told me they killed her in Switzerland!”
“Audrey is alive,” Victor reassured her, lifting her gently to her feet and wrapping his own heavy wool coat around her shivering shoulders. “She is at home, waiting for you. And the men who touched either of you are about to pay their debts in full.”
