Page 28 of Betrayal of the Mafia Rebel
A faint, gray light appears in the distance. The exit grate.
We push harder. The final fifty yards are a sprint against exhaustion. My frame is aching from the adrenaline crash. My hands are numb from the cold. But the need to get her clear fuels every step. I will drag her across the finish line with my teeth if I have to.
We reach the grate. The iron bars are crusted with river debris. Through the gaps, the neon lights of the Chicago skyline reflect off the black surface of the river. The bitter wind off Lake Michigan howls through the metal.
I shake the river off the Sig and holster it. I grip the iron bars and heave.
The grate tears free of its rusted hinges and drops heavily into the water outside.
I step out onto the muddy embankment. The freezing wind hits my soaked clothing like a barrage of needles. I turn and reach back into the pipe. I grab Catalina by the waist and haul her out into the open air.
She collapses against my chest. She's shaking hard. Her clothes are soaked with freezing river water. Her lips are tinged blue.
I strip my tactical jacket off. I don't care about the cold hitting my own skin. I wrap the insulated material around her small shoulders. The jacket hangs off her shoulders. The scent ofmotor oil and smoke envelops her. I pull the lapels tight across her chest, trapping whatever body heat she has left.
My lips find her temple. A single kiss. Warm breath against cold skin. She lifts her chin without being asked. Her eyes meet mine. They are clear. No fear. No regret. Just terrifying trust.
"We made it." She whispers.
"They missed." I correct her. My voice is a low, dangerous rumble. "And they'll never get a second chance."
I pull the encrypted burner phone from the waterproof pouch sewn into my tactical vest. I punch in Dante's direct extraction line. The signal connects on the first ring.
"We need a vehicle." I bark into the receiver. The wind whips my words away. "Riverwalk access. South of the bridge. Bring heavy backup. The speakeasy is burned."
"Ten minutes." Dante's voice is flat. The enforcer is locked in.
I hang up. I shove the phone away.
I wrap my arms around Catalina. I tuck her against me and block the biting wind with my back. I bury my face in her wet hair. Her scent is faint, washed away by the river, but it's still there. It's the only thing keeping me on this side of the line.
The Bellanti family tried to take her from me tonight. They tried to put a bullet in the first thing that has ever felt like peace.
They woke something Dominic spent twenty years holding back.
I stare out over the water of the Chicago River. The city skyline glitters with indifference.
The Costa-Bellanti war just escalated. There are no more shadows. There are no more games. I'm going to tear this city down brick by brick to keep her safe.
She is mine.
And I'm taking her home.
9
Catalina
My teethchatter so hard my jaw aches. The wind off the Chicago River is a wall of ice, slicing right through the soaked layers of my clothes. Mud sucks at my boots with every shift of my weight. Drainage water drips from my hair and freezes against my neck.
Fabio's arm locks across my shoulders, keeping me tucked flush against his side. His body acts as a physical shield against the wind. The heat radiating off him is like him—dominant and unyielding. It wraps around my panicked brain and forces it to settle.
He stands right beside me on the muddy embankment, every line of him tuned to threat. He is unbothered by the freezing temperature. The river water drips from his hair. His chest rises and falls in slow, measured rhythms. A man who just slaughtered four trained Bellanti hitmen in pitch darkness should be breathing hard. He should be shaking from the adrenaline dump.
He's not shaking. He's scanning the perimeter, eyes clocking every shadow, every rustle of the wind.
My family sent a strike team to execute me. They sewed a tracker into my bag. They broadcast a fake transmission to getme killed by the Costas. I grew up inside the suffocating shadow of what they did to my aunt. It was the ultimate lesson. Nobody leaves the Bellanti machine alive.
I'm not dead. I'm standing on the banks of the Chicago River, breathing the freezing air, alive, because a Costa burned the world down for me.
