Chapter 7 - Midnight at St. Jude’sThe Gothic spires of St. Jude’s Church cut like jagged black daggers against the bruised, starless sky of the North Side.
The clock tower read 11:58 PM.
The heavy oak front doors of the cathedral stood half-open, a pale, sickly yellow light spilling out from the altar candles onto the rain-slicked stone steps. Inside, the massive cathedral was dead silent, save for the hollow, dripping sound of rainwater leaking through a cracked stained-glass window.
Adrian Vale walked up the stone steps alone.
He wore a dark wool overcoat, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. Beneath the heavy fabric, his fingers were wrapped securely around the grip of his Glock, while a secondary backup piece was strapped against his left ankle. No bodyguards. No tactical backup. Just a father walking into the lion’s den to retrieve his child.
He pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped inside.
The interior was vast, echoing, and smelling faintly of old wax and burning incense. Rows of polished mahogany pews stretched out toward the towering marble altar at the far end.
Tied securely to a wooden pillar near the front altar sat Lily.
Her hands were bound behind her with heavy zip-ties, a strip of duct tape plastered across her mouth. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and filled with absolute terror as she caught sight of her father.
"Mmmph!" Lily cried out, struggling against the ropes.
"Lily!" Adrian called out, his stoic composure fracturing for a fraction of a second as he sprinted down the central aisle.
"Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Vale," a smooth, cultured voice echoed from the shadows near the altar. "I wouldn't take another step if I were you. Unless, of course, you want your daughter's final memories of her father to be a splatter of blood on a cathedral floor."
Adrian stopped dead in his tracks, twenty feet from the altar.
From the shadows behind the towering marble pulpit, a man stepped out into the flickering candlelight.
He was wearing an expensive, impeccably tailored charcoal suit. His silver-streaked hair was neatly combed, and a faint, polite smile graced his lips.
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It wasn't a rival syndicate boss. It wasn't an underworld assassin.
It was Marcus Reed.
