Chapter 2 - Into the Rain: The Shadow That Followed the Appraiser
The sleet was turning to hard, cutting hail by the time Callum guided Sadie out the side service exit of the Continental. His bulletproof town car was idling curbside, its engine humming a low, muffled bass note. Marcus, his lead enforcer and shadow of twelve years, held the rear door open instantly, his eyes sweeping the empty alleyway with practiced mechanical precision.
“Boss?” Marcus asked, his voice gravel-rough as he took in Sadie’s soaked coat and trembling posture. “Get in the front, Marcus. Drive to the brownstone on Division Street. Not the warehouse,” Callum ordered, his tone flat and unyielding as he nudged Sadie forward by the small of her back.
Sadie flinched at the contact, biting back a gasp of pain. The heat inside the leather-lined interior of the car felt suffocating after the bite of the Chicago wind, but she couldn't stop shaking. She clutched the battered leather portfolio against her chest like a shield, her knuckles stark white.
“Mr. Russo, this is entirely unnecessary,” Sadie insisted, staring resolutely out the frosted window as Marcus pulled away from the curb. “I have an apartment in Lincoln Park. I can take a cab.” “You just walked six blocks through a freezing downpour with a torn ligament or a fractured tibia, carrying enough authenticated renaissance paperwork to buy a small municipality, and you expect me to drop you off at a walk-up where someone is clearly waiting for you?” Callum turned his head, his dark eyes fixing her in the dim illumination of the dashboard. “You insult my intelligence, Sadie. That is a dangerous hobby.”
“I was followed three days ago,” she whispered suddenly, the confession tearing past her teeth before she could stop it. The admission hung in the heavy air of the car like sulfur. “Near the museum archives. A man asked about the manifests I processed for your private buyers. I thought... I thought I lost him.”
Callum did not blink. Inside his mind, a complex web of logistics, territories, and betrayals instantly reorganized itself. The stolen art trade was a delicate ecosystem. If someone was shaking down an appraiser who worked exclusively for the Russo syndicate, it meant two things: either an independent crew was trying to muscle in on their inventory, or someone inside his own organization had leaked Sadie's identity.
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Neither option ended well for the guilty party. “Who?” Callum asked quietly. “I don't know his name. He wore an oversized canvas jacket, smelled of cheap machine oil, and had a jagged scar across his right knuckle,” Sadie murmured, closing her eyes as exhaustion finally threatened to pull her under. “He didn't want money, Mr. Russo. He wanted the ledger codes for the autumn auction.”
Callum leaned back against the plush upholstery, his fingers steeled together beneath his chin. The car turned sharply onto Division Street, its tires hissing against the wet asphalt. They were walking into a storm far worse than the one outside.
