Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Dark
The heavy front door clicked shut, and the momentary surge of adrenaline that had kept Dante upright vanished. His knees gave out. I lunged forward, catching him under the arms, and together we collapsed onto the floor by the entryway. He was burning up; the fever had taken hold with a vengeance, heat radiating off his broad chest like an oven.
""You're an idiot,"" I whispered, fighting back tears of exhaustion as I dragged him inch by inch back to the worn sofa. ""You could have torn everything open. Why did you stand up?""
""No one... talks to you like that,"" Dante muttered, his eyes half-closed, his speech beginning to slur. ""Not while I'm breathing.""
I managed to hoist his legs onto the cushions and threw every blanket I owned over him—an old floral quilt my grandmother had made and my father’s heavy wool winter jacket. I spent the next four hours at his side, soaking washcloths in cold tap water, gently wiping the sweat from his forehead and neck. He drifted in and out of consciousness, muttering names in Italian, snarling threats at shadows, and occasionally gripping my hand with a desperation that broke my heart.
Underneath the ruthless mob boss that Chicago whispered about, there was just an orphaned boy who had been betrayed by the only family he had left.
""Julian,"" he murmured around noon, his brow furrowed in pain. ""He took the port... poisoned the council...""
""Shh,"" I hushed him, smoothing back his dark hair. ""Rest, Dante. You're safe here. Nobody knows where we are.""
Around two in the afternoon, his fever finally broke. His breathing evened out, slipping into a deep, natural sleep. I sat in the worn armchair across from him, sipping stale tap water, looking down at my hands. They were stained with his dried blood beneath the fingernails. My phone was dead, my wallet held precisely four dollars and twenty-five cents, and my manager Roy Miller had undoubtedly fired me twelve hours ago for leaving the store trashed. I had literally nothing left in this world.
At 4:00 p.m., Dante's eyes opened. They were clear, lucid, and intensely focused.
He didn't move suddenly this time. He took a slow, measured breath, assessing his body, then slowly turned his head to look at me. He took in the dark circles under my eyes, the stained clothes, the empty bowl of water on the coffee table.
""You stayed,"" he said simply. His voice was raspy, but the regal authority had returned.
""Where was I supposed to go?"" I gave a weak, humorless smile. ""I'm unemployed, practically homeless, and an accomplice to whatever war you're fighting.""
Dante propped himself up on one elbow, ignoring the sharp twinge in his ribs. He reached inside his trousers pocket and pulled out a sleek, titanium-encased burner phone that had miraculously survived the night. The battery indicator flashed green.
""My accounts were frozen because my uncle filed an emergency court injunction claiming I was dead,"" Dante explained, his voice chillingly cold. ""The board required twenty-four hours to ratify the transfer of power without my physical presence or a certified biometric code. The deadline is 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.""
""And if you don't show up?"" I asked.
""Julian takes total control of the Vance Trust, the shipping contracts, and the family assets. And his first official act will be to burn down Miller's Market, track your license plate, and erase every single person who saw me alive last night.""
I felt the blood drain from my face. ""They're going to come for me anyway.""
""No,"" Dante said firmly. He looked down at the burner phone, his jaw set in stone. ""They're not. Because tonight, the dead man is coming home.""
He extended the phone toward me. ""Dial this number. Tell the man who answers that the Phoenix has risen from the South Side, and give him the address of this apartment.""
May you like
""Who is he?"" I asked, trembling as I took the cold device.
""The only man in Chicago who is more dangerous than my uncle,"" Dante replied, a dark, terrifying smile touching his lips. ""My father’s personal commander.""
