Chapter 2 - THE LAUNDRY TUNNEL AMBUSHThe air in the subterranean service tunnel tasted of bleach, damp linen, and cold iron. Amelia led the small, heavily armed convoy forward, her footsteps echoing softly against the damp concrete. Behind her, Thomas dragged a bound and gagged Mateo by his collar, the traitor's boots scraping a rhythmic, miserable drag across the floor.
"How much further?" Thomas grunted, scanning the shadows with his weapon raised.
"Two hundred yards," Amelia whispered without turning back. "The tunnel opens directly into the sub-level of the neighboring commercial parking structure. The management office there has been abandoned since the autumn floods. No cameras."
Dominic walked directly behind Amelia, acting as her human shield. Every instinct he had honed over thirty years in the Chicago underworld told him to trust this ordinary hotel maid. She had the eyes of a survivor—someone who watched everything while pretending to see nothing.
Suddenly, Amelia raised her hand, freezing the group.
"Stop," she breathed.
Up ahead, where the concrete tunnel intersected with the old freight elevator shaft of the adjacent building, a faint amber glow cut through the steam.
Shadows danced against the corrugated metal walls. Whispers—rapid, harsh Italian—echoed down the corridor.
"They're waiting at the garage exit," Amelia whispered, pressing her back against the damp brick wall. "At least four men. Heavy ordnance. They blocked the main rolling door."
Dominic motioned for his guards to fan out. He pulled Amelia slightly behind a massive canvas laundry bin overflowing with hotel sheets.
"Mateo," Dominic murmured, crouching down beside the bound traitor. He ripped the duct tape from Mateo's mouth.
Mateo gasped, coughing up a mixture of blood and spittle. "Go to hell, Dominic..."
"You're already there, old friend," Dominic replied smoothly. "Tell me: who else on my payroll took Vincenzo's money?"
"No... no one..."
Dominic didn't argue. He simply drew a small, heavy silver pocketknife from his vest, clicked it open, and pressed the cold steel directly against the skin of Mateo’s throat, right over his racing pulse.
"The truth, Mateo. Or your next breath will be through a hole in your windpipe."
Mateo’s eyes bulged with primal terror. He looked at the shadows up ahead, then at Dominic’s unblinking eyes. "It... it's just us! Just the advance team! Vincenzo wanted you dead before you reached your car!"
"Liar," Dominic pressed the blade slightly deeper, drawing a thin line of crimson. "Vincenzo isn't stupid enough to send only four men after me. Where is the real trap?"
Mateo sobbed, losing whatever loyalty he had left. "The parking garage! The SUV you ordered... it’s rigged! A C4 charge wired to the ignition! They didn't want to shoot you; they wanted to vaporize you!"
Dominic went completely still.
The black SUV waiting half a block away—the one he had assumed was a late pickup—was a rolling bomb. If Amelia hadn't warned him in the nineteenth-floor hallway... if he had taken the elevator or rushed directly to that vehicle...
Dominic looked at Amelia. She was staring at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the terrifying weight of what they had just escaped settled over her.
"Looks like you saved my life twice tonight, Amelia," Dominic said softly.
"We need a new plan," Thomas whispered, creeping back from the corner. "If the garage exit is blocked and our car is a bomb, we're trapped between the hotel hit squad and Vincenzo's demolition team."
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Dominic stood up, his face hardening into an expression of pure, cold fury. The Chicago crime boss was no longer just defending himself; he was going on the offensive.
"No," Dominic said, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. "We aren't trapped. We're just going to crash their party."
