Chapter 3 - Ambush on Cermak
Roman picked up the device, tapping the speakerphone icon with an efficiency that showed no trace of hurry. Dante’s frantic voice cut through the cabin, distorted by heavy static and the distinct, rhythmic pops of distant gunfire.
""Don Roman! Do not approach the Cermak depot! I repeat, stay clear!"" Dante shouted over the screech of tires. ""The Albanians—Krasniqi’s crew—they somehow intercepted Tommy’s frequency. They knew about the drop. They’ve locked down the perimeter and have your warehouse surrounded. Tommy is trapped inside the loading dock. We’re engaging from the south gate, but they have automatic rifles and perimeter claymores!""
Roman’s demeanor shifted instantly. The urbane, patient driver vanished, replaced by the apex warlord who had held the North Side under iron rule for a decade. ""Casualties?"" he clipped out.
""Nico took a round to the shoulder. We can't punch through without heavy armor. If Krasniqi gets that ledger, he owns our entire transit manifest!""
""Hold your position and create a suppression corridor on Cermak,"" Roman ordered, his voice dropping into a chilling, absolute authority. ""I am two minutes out.""
He hung up without waiting for an answer, shoved the gear shifter into sport mode, and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The twin-turbo V8 engine roared to life with a violent shudder, throwing Bee backward into the plush leather upholstery as the massive SUV surged forward, tires screaming against the slick asphalt.
""Wait! What do you mean Krasniqi?"" Bee yelled, gripping the ceiling handle as the vehicle drifted dangerously around a flooded corner. ""Who is Krasniqi? Why are people shooting at my brother?!""
""Viktor Krasniqi is a black-market broker who buys corporate intelligence and sells it to Eastern European syndicates,"" Roman said calmly, weaving through two lumbering semi-trucks at eighty miles an hour. ""Your brother didn't just steal my ledger to settle a debt. He tried to auction copies of it on the dark web behind my back. Krasniqi isn't here to buy it; he's here to take the original, kill your brother, and leave my organization crippled before the morning market opens.""
Bee felt sick. ""Tommy... that complete, utter idiot! He told me he just wanted to wipe his slate clean!""
""Tommy is a coward who tries to play grandmaster chess with checkers pieces,"" Roman said coldly, checking his rearview mirror. Behind them, two dark sedans with extinguished headlights pulled out from an alleyway, accelerating rapidly to match their pace. ""And now his mistakes have caught up with both of you.""
""Are those... are those his men?"" Bee asked, her eyes wide as she saw muzzle flashes erupt from the passenger window of the lead sedan.
""Head down. Now!"" Roman roared.
A spray of automatic fire shattered the rear windshield of the Escalade. Bee screamed, diving onto the floorboards, tucking her head into her knees as tempered safety glass rained down across her back like frozen hail. The heavy scent of gunpowder and sulfur immediately filled the cabin. Roman didn't panic. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, deliberately clipping the front quarter panel of an abandoned delivery van parked on the curb. The jarring impact threw the SUV sideways, but Roman corrected the slide instantly, using the momentum to swing the heavy armored rear of the Escalade directly into the pursuit vehicle.
There was a horrific crunch of crumpling steel. The attacker’s sedan spun out of control, violently striking a concrete light pole and bursting into a fireball of fuel and twisted metal.
Bee clamped her hands over her ears, tears of sheer terror leaking from her eyes. ""Oh God, oh God, I should have just taken the blue line train! Why didn't I just take the train?!""
""Stay on the floor!"" Roman shouted over the roaring wind rushing through the shattered rear window. He reached beneath his seat, drew a modified SIG Sauer pistol, racked the slide with one hand against the steering wheel, and slammed the brakes.
The SUV screeched to a halt behind an overturned shipping container just outside the crumbling brick facade of the Cermak warehouse. Outside, the night was alive with chaos—flashes of red and orange lighting up the torrential rain, the steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of assault rifles, and the agonized screams of wounded men echoing against the concrete walls.
Roman turned around, grabbing Bee by the collar of her coat and dragging her upright. His eyes bore into hers with hypnotic intensity. ""Listen to me very carefully, Beatrice. The ledger in that bag is the only reason your brother is still breathing. If Krasniqi gets inside that dock, Tommy dies, you die, and I spend the next six months at war. Do you trust me?""
Bee looked at the blood spattered on the driver's side mirror, then down at the weapon in his hand, and finally into his fierce, unblinking eyes. For some insane reason she could not comprehend, beneath the terror, she saw an unwavering wall of protection.
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""I don't trust you at all,"" she panted, her voice trembling. ""But I hate Tommy right now even more. Give me that gun.""
Roman blinked, an involuntary spark of pure admiration flashing across his face. ""Not a chance, sweetheart. Stay behind me, and don't stop running until I tell you.""
