Chapter 2 - Underground EncountersI hit the turnstiles of the underground station just as the token booth attendant yelled at me, but I flashed a heavy gold signet ring engraved with the Vale crest—a silent universal symbol that made the man instantly turn pale and look away. I vaulted the barrier, landing hard on the platform.
The air smelled of ozone, stale popcorn, and damp concrete.
The southbound train was already hissing to a halt, its doors sliding open with a pneumatic groan. Dozens of commuters surged forward, creating a chaotic human barrier.
"Maya!" I shouted again, scanning the platform.
Too late. The doors slid shut with a sharp chime, trapping passengers inside. Through the grimy, scratched window of the middle car, I caught a heartbreaking glimpse of her. She was wedged against a pole, one arm wrapped tightly around the frame of the triple stroller while her chest heaved.
She wasn't looking at the crowd outside. She was staring straight ahead, tears finally spilling over her lashes, biting her lower lip so hard it bled.
And then, sitting in the stroller right beside her, the little boy with the serious expression looked out. His gray eyes locked onto mine through the glass. He didn't cry. He didn't flinch. He just tilted his head with an eerie, familiar intelligence that made my knees weak.
My son.
The train lurched forward, screeching violently against the rails as it accelerated into the dark tunnel. I slammed my fist against the cold steel pillar, the impact sending a dull ache shooting up my arm.
She had escaped. But Chicago was my city. Every street, every building, every security camera and underground transit line bowed to the Vale name. She thought she could hide from me? She didn't realize the trap she had just walked back into.
My phone rang again. This time, I pulled it out. It was Dominic.
"Boss," Dominic's gravelly voice barked through the speaker. "Miss Hart is furious. She's called Salvatore's office. The Old Man wants to know why you ditched your fiancée in public."
"Drop the wedding, Dominic," I said, my voice dropping an octave into a tone that usually made underbosses piss themselves. "I need you to pull every traffic and CTA camera between Grant Park and the South Loop. Right now."
"Sir? What happened?"
"Find a woman with three toddlers. Dark hair, messy bun, faded denim jacket, and a massive triple stroller. Track her destination. If she gets off at any station, I want to know within sixty seconds."
A beat of absolute silence echoed on the line. Dominic knew me well enough to hear the tremor of tectonic shifts in my voice.
"It's done, Boss," Dominic replied sharply. "Ten minutes."
I walked back up the stairs into the blinding sunlight, my mind racing. Four years ago, I thought I was being noble. When my rival syndicate, the Moretti family, threatened to wipe out everyone I loved, I staged a brutal breakup with Maya. I threw her out, cut her off from my accounts, and made sure she believed I was a monster. I thought she would flee to the West Coast and start over safely.
I never checked up on her. I trusted my own cold logic.
Stupid. Arrogant. Blind.
She hadn't gone to California. She had stayed right here in Chicago, raising my children under the radar, living a life of quiet survival while I sat in a glass penthouse overlooking a city I ruled like a tyrant.
My phone buzzed. A text message from Dominic containing a single address: 412 Elmwood Street, Pilsen.
"Got her," Dominic's voice followed immediately. "She took the pink line to 18th Street, walked three blocks into a residential district, and entered a walk-up apartment. It's a modest building, boss. Nothing fancy. Looks like she's been renting there for a while."
"Send a team," I ordered.
May you like
"Understood. Should we bring her in?"
"No," I growled, sliding into the back of my idling black bulletproof Maybach that had materialized curbside like a ghost. "Keep watch. Let nobody in, let nobody out. I'm going to handle this myself."
