Chapter 4 - The Service Corridor Trap
Evan pulled the trigger a second time—click.
No sound. No flash.
Evan’s brow furrowed. He stared down at the firearm, his thumb instinctively testing the slide. Jammed. Or worse, empty.
“Looking for this?”
From the shadows near the secondary fuse box, a small figure stepped forward. Little Lucy Bennett stood holding a heavy iron magazine clip, her small fingers gripping it like a trophy. She had slipped down the secondary laundry chute while Gabriel and Evan were talking upstairs, her rubber-soled sneakers making zero sound against the concrete.
Evan cursed under his breath, dropping the useless weapon and lunging toward the child with terrifying speed.
He never made it.
Gabriel moved like a freight train uncoupling from the rails. In one fluid motion, he lunged across the damp floor, catching Evan by the lapels of his designer suit and driving him backward with enough force to shatter the wooden utility shelving against the brick wall.
Wine bottles crashed to the floor, shards of glass exploding across the concrete.
Evan fought back with the desperation of a cornered animal, driving a knee into Gabriel’s ribs, but Gabriel didn't even grunt. Fourteen years of running Chicago’s most ruthless freight yards hadn’t been spent sitting behind a desk; Gabriel had carved his empire out of fistfights, dock wars, and survival.
With a brutal twist of his wrist, Gabriel slammed Evan’s spine against the edge of the iron workbench, pinning him there with one massive forearm across his windpipe.
“You traded fourteen years of brotherhood for a corporate title?” Gabriel snarled, his face inches from Evan’s, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fury.
Evan choked for air, his face turning purple, his hands clawing at Gabriel’s coat sleeve. “They... they would have killed us both, Gabriel! You don’t know what Viktor has on me! He has my family!”
“Viktor Volkov,” Gabriel whispered, the name dropping like a lead weight in the cellar. The Bratva boss who had tried to buy out Rowan Freight three years ago.
“He’s upstairs,” Evan gasped, his eyes rolling back slightly under the pressure of Gabriel’s forearm. “Right now. In your study. He’s been there since noon.”
Gabriel’s grip loosened just enough for Evan to drag in a ragged breath.
May you like
“My study?” Gabriel repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper.
“The front gates... they weren’t locked to keep people out,” Evan choked out, a twisted, desperate smile crossing his bloodied lips. “They were locked to keep you in.”
