Chapter 6 - The Training Grounds
Forty-eight hours later, my life as a delivery driver in Cicero vanished as if it had never existed.
I was relocated to a secure, high-tech compound tucked deep inside the private woods of Barrington Hills. The estate was surrounded by twelve-foot security walls, infrared sensors, and a twenty-four-hour tactical detail.
My days began at five in the morning.
For six hours every day, I trained in the compound’s subterranean firing range and combat gym with Marko, Dominic’s head of security. We worked on close-quarters combat, knife defense, evasive driving, and concealed firearm quick-draws.
"Faster, Carter!" Marko roared, sweeping his heavy leg toward my ribs during an intense sparring session on the third afternoon. "The Whitmore hitmen won't wait for you to catch your breath!"
I blocked his kick with a cross-forearm guard, absorbing the heavy force, slid under his jab, and drove my elbow hard into his ribs. Marko let out a breathless grunt, taking three steps back, a dark grin spreading across his scarred face.
"Not bad," Marko grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You really are Marcus’s blood. He used that exact same elbow counter on me ten years ago."
In the evenings, I sat in Dominic’s private library, studying financial ledgers, wiretap transcripts, and security blueprints for the Whitmore estate.
Dominic sat across the heavy mahogany desk every night, pouring two glasses of sparkling water, dissecting the political dynamics of the five families that controlled Chicago's underground economy.
"Victor Whitmore is paranoid," Dominic explained one evening, pointing a laser pointer at an organizational chart projected onto the wall. "He doesn't trust digital communications. Everything he controls is documented in a physical master ledger kept inside a biometric safe in his private study at the Drake Hotel penthouse."
"And that's what we need at the summit," I noted, studying the floor plans. "Without that ledger, his allies won't turn on him."
"Precisely," Dominic said. He looked up from the plans, his eyes scanning my face. You look tired, Avery."
"I haven't slept more than four hours a night since I signed that paper," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "Every time I close my eyes, I see my dad standing on those docks."
Dominic stood up from his desk, walked around to my side, and set a small glass of warm herbal tea beside my notes.
"Your father was the bravest man I ever knew," Dominic said softly, his voice carrying an unexpected warmth that startled me. "He didn't die in vain, Avery. And I will not let you die either."
I looked up at him. Standing this close, I could smell the faint scent of cedar and expensive tobacco on his suit. For the first time, I didn't see a terrifying mafia boss. I saw a man carrying the heavy weight of a broken family, fighting the same monsters I was.
Suddenly, the red emergency light on the library desk flashed violently.
A loud siren echoed through the compound.
The doors swung open, and Marko rushed into the room, his tactical vest secured, a automatic rifle in his hands.
"Boss!" Marko yelled. "We have a breach at the North Gate! Three armored SUVs just rammed the perimeter fence!"
Dominic didn't flinch. He opened his desk drawer, pulled out two custom matte-black handguns, and tossed one across the desk to me.
May you like
I caught the weapon cleanly, flicking the safety off with my thumb.
"Victor Whitmore sent a welcoming party," Dominic said coldly, racking the slide of his gun. "Let's see how much you remember from your father, Avery."
