Chapter 6 - The Steel Fleet Arrives
The sun was dipping beneath the concrete horizon of Chicago, casting long, bloody streaks of crimson and orange across the soot-stained buildings of Brighton Park. Inside my cramped living room, the tension was so thick it tasted like copper. I had dialed the number Dante gave me. A man with a thick Slavic accent had answered on the first ring, listened to my trembling words, replied with a curt ""Ten minutes,"" and hung up.
Dante had managed to wash the dried blood from his face in my tiny bathroom. He wore a clean, oversized gray hoodie of my late father’s—it was tight across his broad shoulders, but it covered the thick white bandages wrapping his torso. He stood by the grimy window, peering through the cracked plastic blinds down at the quiet residential street below.
""You should pack a bag, Maya,"" he said quietly, not turning around.
""I don't have anything worth packing,"" I answered, sitting on the edge of the kitchen table. ""Everything valuable went to the hospital to pay for Dad’s dialysis. The rest is just junk.""
""Memories aren't junk,"" Dante countered softly. ""Take what matters to your heart. Leave the rest. You are never stepping foot in this building again.""
Before I could ask him what he meant, a low, rhythmic rumble began to vibrate through the floorboards. It wasn't the rattling hum of the nearby elevated train. It was deeper, heavier—the collective growl of high-displacement V8 engines vibrating the very foundations of the neighborhood.
I rushed to the window and gasped.
Turning off the main avenue onto our cracked, pothole-riddled street was a motorcade unlike anything Brighton Park had ever witnessed. Four identical, pitch-black armored Cadillac Escalades, followed by two sleek Maybach sedans, moved in flawless, military formation. Their tinted windows reflected the dying sunlight like polished obsidian. Neighbors poked their heads out of windows; kids playing on the sidewalks froze, staring in wide-eyed awe.
The convoy came to a synchronized halt directly in front of my dilapidated apartment building, completely blocking the street.
The doors of the four Escalades flew open in unison. A dozen men in perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suits, earpieces glinting in the twilight, stepped out onto the pavement. They moved with terrifying efficiency, establishing a perimeter around the building, their hands resting deliberately beneath their suit jackets.
From the passenger side of the lead Maybach stepped an older gentleman with silver hair slicked straight back, wearing a bespoke double-breasted overcoat. He carried a heavy leather briefcase in one hand and looked up at the third-story window.
Dante let the blind snap shut. ""That's Nikolai. We're leaving.""
Footsteps thundered up the wooden staircase—not the sloppy, lumbering stomps of Hector, but the rapid, synchronized ascent of trained professionals. Within seconds, a sharp, rhythmic knock sounded at the door.
Dante opened it himself.
The silver-haired man stood in the hallway. When his eyes landed on Dante, the stoic mask on his face cracked for a fraction of a second, revealing profound relief. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head slightly.
""Mr. Vance,"" Nikolai said in a voice as deep as gravel. ""We intercepted the radio chatter from the South Side. We feared the worst.""
""Julian tried to butcher me at the docks,"" Dante said, stepping aside to let him enter. ""He bought the third precinct. He thinks I'm rotting at the bottom of Lake Michigan.""
""He holds the boardroom hostage as we speak,"" Nikolai replied, stepping into the small apartment, his cold eyes sweeping over the room before settling on me. His gaze lingered on my stained sweater and the bandages on Dante's ribs. ""And who is this young lady, sir?""
Dante turned to look at me, and for the first time, his cold gray eyes held something undeniably tender.
""This is Maya,"" Dante declared, his voice echoing with absolute authority in the small room. ""She spent her last twenty dollars to keep me breathing while my own blood relatives paid millions to put me in the ground. From this moment forward, her safety is the Vance family’s highest priority. If a single hair on her head is harmed, Chicago will burn.""
Nikolai’s posture shifted instantly. He turned toward me, clicked his heels together, and bowed deeply from the waist. ""It is an honor, Miss Maya. My life is at your service.""
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My head spun. Just twenty-four hours ago, I was sweeping up crushed chips at Miller’s Market, wondering if I would have to sleep in my car. Now, a billionaire mob boss and his private army were bowing to me in my living room.
""Nikolai,"" Dante commanded, stepping toward the door. ""Bring the briefcase. Maya has one final piece of business to settle in this building before we take back what is mine.""
