Chapter 5 - Marked for Execution
The rain morphed into an icy sleet as they crossed the state border into southern Wisconsin in a stolen, unregistered farm truck Roman hotwired from an industrial yard in Kenosha. The heater blasted dry, lukewarm air, barely keeping the frost from creeping across the cracked windshield.
Madison tore strips of sterile gauze from the emergency medical kit, wrapping Roman’s wounded arm with practiced care. Her hands no longer trembled.
“You did well back there,” Roman muttered, his eyes locked on the dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the endless pine forests. “Most people freeze during an ambush. You kept your head down and moved when I told you to move.”
“I was terrified,” Madison said honestly, tying off the bandage with a sharp tug that made Roman wince slightly. “I’m still terrified. But dying in a basement while Victor Vance hunts for my father isn’t how my story ends.”
Roman glanced at her sideways, a rare, genuine smirk tugging at his lips. “You have your father’s stubbornness. Daniel was the only man in Chicago who could look my uncle in the eyes and tell him his construction margins were crooked without flinching.”
“Tell me about that night,” Madison demanded quietly, looking out into the bleak darkness of the woods. “The night he disappeared. You said he saved your life when you were eighteen.”
Roman’s expression darkened, the shadows inside the cab accentuating the hard lines of his jaw. “My uncle ran the family back then. He was paranoid, ruthless, and suspected everyone was skimming off the top. He set up an ambush at a grain depot south of the river to wipe out three union reps who refused to play ball. I was sent along to watch. But the Morretti syndicate caught wind of it and turned it into an execution squad. My uncle fled. He left me behind to burn.”
Roman gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning stark white. “I took two bullets to the chest. I was bleeding out behind a stack of shipping pallets when Daniel drove an armored forklift through a corrugated steel wall, scooped me off the pavement, and sped into the night under heavy fire. He drove me to an underground surgeon, paid for the blood transfusions out of his own pocket, and stayed by my bed until I woke up.”
“Why would he do that?” Madison asked softly. “He was just an accountant.”
“Because your father believed in protecting people who couldn't protect themselves,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a solemn whisper. “Two years later, when my uncle threatened to kill Daniel after discovering an audit paper trail, Daniel decided to strike first. He didn't just run with the money. He took the black ledger that tied my family, the Morrettis, and five high-ranking state senators to decades of bribery, murder, and extortion. He knew that as long as he had the ledger, nobody would dare touch you—because releasing that book would destroy the entire ruling class of Illinois.”
Madison stared at him, the full scale of her father’s sacrifice finally settling into her chest with crushing weight. Daniel hadn’t abandoned her out of cowardice or greed. He had made himself the ultimate target, living as a hunted ghost for five agonizing years, just to ensure that his daughter could walk the streets of Chicago as a free woman.
“He didn't steal the money to get rich,” Madison realized aloud, tears welling in her eyes. “He took it to ensure Vance and your uncle would stay busy chasing him across the globe.”
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“Exactly,” Roman said. “And right now, Vance realizes that the only way to neutralize that threat is to find the ledger before Daniel releases it, slaughter you to wipe out the bloodline, and seize total control of both syndicates.”
Roman turned the truck off the main highway, cutting through a rusted iron gate partially buried in overgrown weeds. Ahead, nestled amidst a dense cluster of weeping willow trees beside a frozen lake, stood the dark, rotting outline of the old Brooks family summer cabin.
