Chapter 7 - The Secret Beneath Dock 14
The subterranean drainage tunnel was a freezing, echoing cavern carved through the bedrock of old Chicago.
Cold river water sloshed around the thick soles of Luca’s combat boots, splashing dark droplets against the hems of his trousers.
He carried me against his broad chest with an effortless, steady power, his breath rhythmic and completely controlled despite the grueling terrain.
Every few seconds, a distant, subterranean vibration shook tiny pebbles loose from the vaulted stone ceiling above us.
The federal agents were above our heads, tearing through the historic floorboards of the Moretti estate with search warrants and sledgehammers.
I could feel the hard, steady rhythm of Luca’s heart beating beneath the thick wool of his vest.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered into the darkness, my voice shivering from the damp, sixty-degree temperature of the tunnel.
“Put me down. I can walk. You’re slowing yourself down carrying me.”
Luca didn't slow his stride by a single millimeter.
“Your left elbow has a hairline fracture, Sophie. Your uniform has lost nearly half a pint of blood.”
“If you walk through this rushing current, the water will enter the open wound and you will develop septic shock within twelve hours.”
“I don't leave my people behind to die in sewers.”
“I’m just the third-floor housemaid, sir,” I said, looking up at the sharp, shadowed contours of his profile in the gloom.
Luca glanced down at me, his dark eyes catching the faint, eerie green reflection of the tunnel’s emergency exit markers.
“Three hours ago, you were the maid,” he said, his voice deep and completely devoid of arrogance.
“Tonight, you stood between my crippled mother and two armed mercenaries while eighty of my supposed friends drank my champagne upstairs.”
“You are no longer a maid in this house, Sophie. You never will be again.”
The tunnel abruptly curved to the right, widening into a cavernous junction where massive iron floodgates stood partially raised.
Beyond the iron gates, the sound of the churning, black current of the Chicago River grew into a deafening roar.
A single beam of blinding white halogen light suddenly cut through the darkness, illuminating our silhouettes against the stone wall.
Luca stopped instantly, shifting his weight so his broad torso was positioned directly between the light source and my chest.
His right hand dropped down toward the suppressed weapon holstered at his tactical hip belt.
“Hold your fire, Boss! It’s Gianni!” a voice barked over the roaring water.
A massive, square-jawed man in a black tactical windbreaker stepped out from the shadows near a rusted iron ladder.
Behind him, moored against the concrete drainage ledge, floated a sleek, matte-black military-grade interceptor boat.
Its twin turbodiesel engines were idling with a low, barely audible mechanical hum that vibrated the river surface.
“Report,” Luca demanded, stepping forward onto the concrete ledge and carefully setting me down onto a dry wooden equipment bench.
Gianni immediately pulled a heavy thermal blanket from the boat’s cabin and draped it securely over my shivering shoulders.
“Dr. Rossi is on board the safehouse yacht waiting at the Gary harbor basin,” Gianni reported, keeping his voice low.
“What about my mother?” Luca asked, the edge in his voice sharpening like a freshly ground razor.
Gianni allowed a rare, grim smile to cross his weather-beaten face.
“Strike Unit Two hit Silo Four ninety seconds before Julian Bellini could reach his escape vehicle.”
“Julian is currently in zip-ties inside the back of a grain hopper.”
“And Mrs. Moretti?”
“Untouched, Boss. She took Julian’s personal cane and struck him across the bridge of his nose before my men even kicked the door open.”
A brief, faint ghost of a smile touched the corner of Luca’s hard lips.
“That's my mother.”
“Where is she now, Gianni?”
“She’s already en route to the Gary basin aboard the medical helicopter with full telemetry monitoring.”
“Her vitals are completely stable, sir. She refused to take an oxygen mask until we confirmed you and Sophie were clear of the manor.”
I let out a shuddering, tearful breath of pure relief, closing my eyes as the immense weight lifted from my chest.
Eleanor was alive.
The sweet, frail old woman who had held my hand when my sister Maya went into renal crisis had survived the nightmare.
“What about the feds at the estate?” Luca asked, his expression hardening back into tactical stone.
Gianni’s face darkened under the halogen glare.
“Agent Miller went completely berserk when he found the cellar empty, sir.”
“He arrested Matteo on the spot and found the forged fentanyl manifests sitting on the worktable.”
“Did Vanessa talk?”
“She tried to claim you forced her down there at gunpoint,” Gianni said, spitting into the black river water.
“But Marco played the foyer security footage directly onto the living room projection screen for every guest and federal agent to see.”
“The entire room watched Vanessa dragging Mrs. Moretti’s wheelchair across the floor while Sophie tried to stop her.”
“Senator Hayes walked out of the house in disgust, and three supreme court judges canceled their endorsements of the Bellini family legal fund within ten minutes.”
Luca nodded once, a cold, calculated satisfaction settling across his rugged features.
“Vanessa dug her own grave in front of the highest society in the Midwest. Now we seal the lid.”
Gianni turned toward the black interceptor boat, holding the mooring line steady against the concrete cleat.
“We need to cast off immediately, Boss. The Coast Guard is setting up radar checkpoints at the mouth of the harbor.”
“They have a designated search radius for any vessel exceeding forty feet.”
Luca stepped onto the gunwale of the interceptor, turning back and extending both hands toward me.
“Come, Sophie. Step onto the deck.”
I looked down at the dark, churning water between the concrete ledge and the boat’s hull, my injured arm throbbing violently.
A sudden wave of intense vertigo washed over me, the blood loss finally draining the last remnants of my physical stamina.
My knees buckled completely beneath my weight.
Before I could hit the wet concrete floor, Luca surged forward across the gap, catching me securely in his arms.
He stepped backward onto the deck, cradling me against his chest as the boat rocked gently in the river current.
“Cast off the lines, Gianni,” Luca commanded, stepping into the climate-controlled warmth of the lower cabin.
May you like
“Take us out through the southern industrial drainage canal.”
“It’s time to settle the score with the Bellini family once and for all.”
