Chapter 6 - The Safehouse Protocol
Ten minutes later, the screech of heavy tires tore through the ruined loading dock. Dante, very much alive though bleeding profusely from a grazing wound along his scalp, burst through the haze accompanied by twenty heavily armed Cavali foot soldiers. Within seconds, Krasniqi’s surviving operatives were disarmed, zip-tied, and dragged into the back of unmarked vans. Krasniqi himself was thrown into a trunk like a sack of spoiled flour.
Roman sat on an overturned crate, his face pale as Dante applied a combat tourniquet to his shoulder. He refused medical transport to a public hospital. A mob boss with a gunshot wound drew police tape and federal warrants; he had private surgeons on retainer for nights like this.
Bee stood near the bay doors, wrapped in a coarse wool blanket someone had handed her, shivering uncontrollably. The adrenaline crash hit her with the weight of an anvil. Her limbs felt like lead, her head throbbed, and the reality of what she had just witnessed—the blood, the violence, the cold-blooded finality of it all—threatened to tear her apart.
Tommy was hauled out of the drainage culvert by two of Dante’s enforcers, soaked in sewer filth and weeping uncontrollably.
""Don Roman! Please, have mercy! It was Krasniqi! He forced me!"" Tommy wailed, dropping to his knees on the freezing concrete.
Roman stood up slowly, waving Dante aside. He walked over to Tommy, his steps deliberate and heavy. He looked down at the trembling man with utter disgust. Then, he looked past Tommy toward Bee.
Bee took a step forward, her chin trembling, but her gaze didn't drop. ""You promised,"" she whispered, her voice cracking. ""You said if the ledger was safe...""
Roman stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. The warehouse went dead silent. Dante held his breath, waiting for the execution order that standard protocol demanded. Treason was met with a bullet; that was the law of the Chicago underworld.
""Tommy Gallagher,"" Roman spoke, his voice carrying the finality of a funeral bell. ""You will board a freighter departing from the Port of Indiana at four o'clock tomorrow morning. You will work as a deckhand on an ore carrier heading to South America. If you ever set foot inside the state of Illinois again, Dante will not ask questions. Your debt is wiped clean. Your life is spared solely because of your sister’s bravery. Thank her before you leave.""
Tommy sobbed, throwing his arms around Bee’s waist. ""Bee, oh God, Bee, thank you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—""
""Get off me, Tommy,"" Bee said softly, pulling away from his grasp. Her voice was devoid of warmth, filled only with the bitter exhaustion of a lifetime spent cleaning up his messes. ""Go. And don't ever call me again.""
Dante shoved Tommy toward an idling sedan, packing him into the back seat and speeding into the rainy dawn.
Roman walked over to Bee, stopping inches away. His coat was ruined, his arm bound in white gauze, yet his presence was as commanding as when she had first stepped into his car. He looked down at her battered tote bag, still clutched in her right hand.
""You should come with me,"" Roman said gently.
May you like
""Why?"" Bee swallowed, her throat parched. ""The job is done. Tommy is gone. You have your ledger.""
""Because Krasniqi has associates, Beatrice. Because you know the architecture of my private accounts now. And because,"" Roman reached out, his warm, rough fingers gently brushing a smudge of black soot from her cheek, ""I still owe you a ride.""
