Chapter 9 - The Ghost Fleet|
I buried my face in his blood-stained collar, clutching the back of his shirt as I sobbed against his chest.
"I thought you were dead," I wept.
"I told you," Silas whispered, kissing the top of my head, his large hand gently cupping the back of my neck. "Nobody decides what I have to lose."
He pulled back, looking down at my pale face, then resting his warm palm against my six-month belly. Our son gave a sharp, strong kick against his hand.
Silas let out a small, ragged breath, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips.
"He knows his father is ready," Silas murmured.
"Where do we go now?" I asked, looking around the ruined penthouse. "The elevators are monitored. The streets are controlled by the Castigliones."
"We don't take the streets," Silas said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small black remote control with a single red toggle switch. "Ten years ago, when I bought this building, I built something the Commission never knew about."
He flipped the toggle switch.
Deep within the concrete walls of the penthouse, a low, mechanical hum vibrated through the floorboards.
A section of the library bookcase swung backward, revealing a hidden private industrial elevator—one that descended directly into the abandoned freight tunnels beneath the Chicago River.
"This tunnel leads straight to the old rail lines beneath the city," Silas explained, guiding me toward the hidden entrance. "My private convoy is waiting at the river exit."
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"What about Elena?" I asked, glancing toward the dining room.
"She stays," Silas said flatly. "When her father's men finally break through the front doors, they’ll find her tied to a chair with Matteo’s corpse at her feet. It will buy us two hours before they realize we're gone."
