Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Neon Shadows
The call hit Lorenzo’s handset while Dante was barreling south on the Dan Ryan Expressway at ninety miles an hour through the blinding sleet.
""Dante!"" Lorenzo yelled through the encrypted speakerphone, his voice cutting through the roar of the Maybach’s twin-turbo engine. ""She called the dispatch line! Landline trace from an old residential copper wire on Taylor Street—Little Italy! She said she’s bleeding!""
Dante didn't answer with words. He threw his weight against the steering wheel, cutting across three lanes of slush-covered highway, clipping a road barrier with his rear quarter panel as he took the Roosevelt Road exit ramp sideways. The tires screamed against the concrete, throwing up a rooster tail of gray spray.
""Call Dr. Chen!"" Dante roared, the veins in his neck bulging like steel cables against his skin. ""I want an ambulance with a neonatal trauma kit staging on Taylor Street right now! If that rig is sixty seconds late, I will shoot the driver!""
""The rig is already rolling from UIC Medical Center!"" Lorenzo shouted back. ""We have four cruisers running escort!""
Dante tore through the narrow, rain-slicked streets of Little Italy, running every red light, the horn blaring continuously. Neon signs from old bakeries and shuttered delis reflected in bloody streaks across his windshield. He knew this neighborhood. This was where his grandfather had started the family business fifty years ago, running olive oil and gambling parlors out of back rooms. Isabella’s grandmother had lived three doors down from the old bakery.
How could I forget? Dante cursed himself, slamming his fist against the steering wheel until the horn bracket cracked. She didn't run to an airport. She ran to her grandmother's ghost because I made our home feel like a cemetery.
He rounded the corner of Taylor and Racine, tires hopping the curb. He slammed the transmission into park directly in front of the narrow two-story brownstone with boarded-up front windows.
Before the car had even fully stopped rocking, Dante hit the pavement running.
The front door was padlocked. Dante didn't bother looking for a key or waiting for Lorenzo’s breach team. He drove his combat boot into the wood right beside the frame, shattering the ancient pine lockset with a single explosive kick.
The door swung inward, banging against the plaster wall.
""Isabella!""
The silence inside the house was terrifying. The air was frigid, thick with the smell of mildew and old wood.
Dante pulled his flashlight from his pocket, sweeping the yellow beam across the dusty parlor. Nothing. He lunged down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped beast.
At the end of the hall, the cellar door hung slightly ajar.
A trail of dark red droplets stained the gray floorboards leading downward into the dark.
""Bella!"" Dante yelled, his voice breaking into a ragged, desperate cry as he bounded down the wooden stairs three at a time.
The flashlight beam hit the floor at the base of the staircase.
Isabella was lying on her side on the bare linoleum, her chestnut hair splayed across the dust, her cream dress soaked in blood from her hips to her knees. Her skin was the color of skim milk, her lips tinged with a faint, terrifying shade of blue. The heavy black rotary telephone lay beside her outstretched hand, its receiver buzzing with a steady, hollow off-hook tone.
Dante dropped to his knees, dropping the flashlight into the dust.
""No, no, no... Bella, look at me,"" he sobbed, sliding his large hands beneath her limp shoulders, pulling her upper body into his lap. Her skin was freezing to the touch. ""Bella, please! Please, God, wake up!""
Isabella’s eyelids fluttered, heavy and weak. She looked up through the gloom, her brown eyes cloudy with pain and oxygen deprivation.
""Dante...?"" she whispered, her voice barely louder than the rustle of dry leaves. ""The agreement... she took your necklace...""
""Damn the necklace! Damn the agreement!"" Dante wept, pressing his wet face against her cold cheek, his tears mingling with the blood and grime on her neck. ""I don't care about anything but you! You are my only wife! My only queen! Bella, stay with me! Don't you dare close your eyes!""
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Behind him, heavy boots thundered down the cellar stairs as paramedics in neon jackets burst into the basement carrying a trauma gurney and portable oxygen tanks.
""Get the pressure cuff on her!"" Dr. Chen’s voice cut through the darkness like a scalpel. ""She's in hypovolemic shock! Get the O-negative running wide open!""
