Chapter 3 - Escape Through the Shadows
The subterranean maintenance tunnels beneath the Blackwood estate were designed to move contraband and armed men without ever catching the eye of city surveillance or rival syndicates. Cold, damp, and smelling faintly of stagnant river water and diesel exhaust, the concrete corridor stretched out before them like the throat of a beast.
Claire clutched Noah tightly against her chest, the baby bundled in a thick down-filled blanket to ward off the chill. Every shadow cast by the flickering emergency lights seemed to stretch and twist into the shape of an assassin. Ethan walked slightly ahead, his twin pistols drawn once more, his boots making a steady, rhythmic echo against the damp concrete.
“Where are we going?” Claire asked, her breath pluming in the frigid air. “If Julian and Marcus know you’re onto them, every street in Chicago will be locked down by dawn. The police, the rival syndicates, your own capos—they’ll all be looking for us.”
“They’re looking for the estate,” Ethan said without turning back. “They aren't looking for a rusted-out Ford transit van parked behind an abandoned meat-packing plant off Archer Avenue. My father taught me one rule when I took over this syndicate: Never trust a man who smiles when he shakes your hand, and never keep your gold where people can see it.”
They reached a heavy iron hatch at the end of the tunnel. Ethan punched a digital code into a keypad mounted beside the frame, and with a pneumatic hiss, the heavy door swung outward, admitting a rush of freezing autumn wind and the distant hum of city traffic.
They stepped out into the industrial wasteland of the Pilsen district. A battered, nondescript white cargo van sat idling in the shadows of a corrugated steel loading dock. The driver’s side door swung open, and a towering man with a heavily scarred face and a broken nose stepped out.
“Boss,” the man grunted, eyeing Claire and the bundle in her arms with cautious respect. “I heard the chatter on the encrypted band. The estate is locked down. Marcus’s crew went dark after taking a fall down the service shaft.”
“Good work, Victor,” Ethan nodded, gesturing for Claire to climb into the passenger seat while he secured the back. “Is the safehouse in Cicero prepped?”
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“Clean and secure,” Victor replied, sliding behind the steering wheel as Ethan hopped into the back with his weapons ready. “Supplies are stocked, the communication jammers are active, and no one knows about that location except the three of us.”
The van roared to life, its exhaust pipe sputtering gray smoke before tires squealed against the cracked asphalt, hurtling out into the sprawling, neon-lit labyrinth of the Chicago night.
