Chapter 2 - The Black Fleet
I lowered the phone and moved toward the bay window of my third-floor walk-up apartment, parting the dusty blinds with my fingertips.
What I saw made the breath freeze completely in my throat.
My quiet, tree-lined residential street in North Chicago had been transformed into an impenetrable fortress of dark metal and tinted glass.
Dozens of identical black Cadillac Escalades and armored Suburbans were parked bumper-to-bumper along both curbs, blocking every intersection for three blocks.
Men in dark tailored coats stood at every corner, their earpieces catching the twilight and their hands resting deliberately beneath their lapels.
Neighbors peeked nervously behind drawn curtains, while local traffic was redirected away by private security guards wielding glowing orange wands.
"There are at least two hundred men outside my building," I whispered into the phone, terror turning my voice hollow.
"Two hundred and fourteen, to be exact," Russo corrected calmly, his breathing ragged over the line.
"The men who put that knife in my ribs this morning have discovered which hospital treated me."
"They know a trauma nurse named Emma Shaw kept me alive long enough to walk out the side exit," he continued.
"By now, their scouts are five minutes away from your front entrance."
A cold sweat broke across the back of my neck as the reality of my predicament crashed down around me.
"I was just doing my job," I cried out softly. "I treated a patient who came through the emergency department doors!"
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"In my world, Emma, saving a Russo is considered taking a side," he replied with chilling certainty.
"You have ninety seconds to pack your medical kit and passport before my lieutenant kicks down your front door to carry you out."
