Chapter 7 - The Race Against Dawn
The two-hour flight from New Jersey to Chicago was a descent into psychological purgatory. Every minute dragged like an eternity. High above the cloud cover, I opened the velvet case a dozen times, checking the integrity of the glass ampoules, terrified that turbulence or pressure might crack the fragile vessels containing Alina’s salvation.
Beside me, Marco worked the encrypted radios, clearing a high-speed police escort from O'Hare directly to my private compound in Lake Forest. Through bribes and political leverage, we turned the entire Kennedy Expressway into a closed private raceway. The Chicago police department blocked every exit ramp, flashing their sirens not to arrest us, but to clear a path for the devil himself.
When the jet slammed onto the runway at O'Hare, the landing gear screeched violently, burning rubber across the asphalt as the pilot reversed thrusters at maximum capacity. We didn't wait for the stairs to align properly; Marco kicked open the emergency door, and we dropped six feet onto the tarmac, running toward a waiting convoy of three black armored Suburbans.
Tires screamed as we rocketed out of the airfield. We hit ninety miles per hour through the city corridors, blowing through red lights and intersections beneath the escort of howling sirens.
My phone buzzed again. It was Eleanor.
“Dante...” her voice was completely broken, barely audible through choked sobs. “Her heart stopped for forty seconds. Dr. Bennett had to use the defibrillator pads. She woke up for just a moment... and she called your name.”
“Put the phone to her ear, Eleanor,” I commanded, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. “Put the phone to her ear right now!”
There was a rustle of bedsheets, followed by the terrifying, ragged sound of Alina fighting for oxygen through an intubation mask.
“Alina,” I said, stripping every shred of ice from my tone, speaking with a raw, desperate tenderness that made Marco look away in reverence. “Alina, listen to my voice. I have the medicine. Do you hear me, sweetheart? I went to New York and took Viktor’s vault apart. I have the antidote in my hands. You fought for three years to keep me alive. Now you fight for me for twenty more minutes. Don't you dare close your eyes. Don't you dare leave me alone in this dark world.”
Over the static of the line, through the hiss of the oxygen tank, came the faintest, breathiest whisper: “Dante... I’m... so tired...”
“No!” I roared, slamming my palm against the dashboard. “You don't get to rest! You promised to stay with me until death, Alina! And death hasn't gotten my permission yet! Hold on!”
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We took the turn into my gated estate at sixty miles per hour, the Suburban’s tires clipping the stone gateposts with a shower of sparks. The heavy wrought-iron gates swung open just in time. The vehicle slid to a violent halt on the gravel driveway, throwing up stones against the pristine marble fountain.
I leapt out of the vehicle before it completely stopped, clutching the velvet case, and sprinted through the front doors.
