Chapter 5 - THE HUNT ON MICHIGAN AVENUE
Dawn broke over Chicago in bruised shades of violet and gray. Rain poured from the sky in sheets, turning the asphalt of LaSalle Street into a mirror of neon reflections.
We traveled in a three-car armored convoy. Dante sat beside me in the rear of the lead vehicle, his assault rifle resting discreetly against his knee, his eyes scanning every rooftop, intersection, and delivery van we passed.
"Two blocks to the Federal Reserve branch," his head of security, Marcus, announced over the comms. "Cross-traffic is abnormally clear. We have a tail—three blacked-out Suburbans coming fast from the Wacker Drive ramp."
"Roman's dogs," Dante said, completely unruffled. "Marcus, execute counter-ambush protocol Bravo. Don't let them box us in."
Before Marcus could answer, a heavy commercial dump truck blew through a red light at the intersection of LaSalle and Adams, slamming into our trailing security escort with a thunderous crunch of twisted metal.
"Brace!" Dante roared, throwing his entire body over mine as our driver slammed the brakes and threw the wheel hard to the right.
Tires shrieked. Our car spun 180 degrees, the armored chassis absorbing the impact as one of the chasing Suburbans sideswiped our rear fender.
Automatic gunfire erupted instantly, the sound like ripping canvas outside the reinforced ballistic windows. Bullets pinged harmlessly off the glass, spiderwebbing the surface into milky fractals.
"Stay down!" Dante ordered, racking his weapon.
"Like hell I will!" I drew my Sig Sauer, kicking my door open the second the vehicle came to a shuddering halt against the marble steps of the financial building.
Two of Roman’s shooters in tactical gear were advancing on our car, their rifles raised. Before they could acquire Dante in their sights, I leaned around the doorframe and fired three precise shots. The first shooter dropped instantly with a shattered kneecap; the second scrambled for cover behind a concrete planter.
Dante emerged from the other side like a wrathful god. He put down two more attackers with clinical, terrifying speed, his movements fluid and deadly.
"Move! Inside the perimeter!" Dante grabbed my hand, pulling me up the grand marble stairs of the vault building as his remaining security team engaged the rest of Roman’s ambush in the street.
The heavy bronze doors of the private vault facility swung open as the security alarms screamed. We burst into the fortified lobby, the bulletproof doors slamming shut behind us, cutting off the deafening roar of gunfire outside.
I stood there, my chest heaving, the smell of gunpowder burning my nostrils, my hand still gripping the warm, steady palm of Dante Vale.
Dante looked down at me, his eyes blazing with adrenaline and something deeper—an electric, dangerous admiration.
"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Evelyn Moretti," he breathed, wiping a speck of rainwater from my temple.
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"You’re doing fine so far, Vale," I panted back, a fierce, reckless smile touching my lips. "Now let's go open my father’s vault."
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