Chapter 8 - The Price of Loyalty
The impact knocked Julian off balance. Elena broke free, tumbling across the carpet, while Julian went down hard against the marble base of a statue.
His revolver clattered across the floor, spinning toward the center of the room.
Julian scrambled on his hands and knees, his fingers clawing for the gun. “You crazy bitch!” he roared, lunging at me.
Before he could lay a finger on me, a heavy black dress shoe slammed into Julian’s ribs with the force of a battering ram. Julian flew across the floor, coughing violently, blood spattering against his white dress shirt.
Ethan stood over him, breathing evenly, his gun lowered by his side. Behind him, all four remaining Moretti gunmen lay motionless on the shattered floor, subdued by Callahan’s reinforcements who had breached the room from the side entrances.
Elena was sobbing hysterically in the corner. I ran to her, wrapping my arms around her trembling frame, pulling her head against my shoulder just like I used to when we were kids hiding from our parents' shouting matches in the next room.
“I didn't know,” Elena wept, her fingers digging into my back. “Rachel, I swear to God I didn't know what he was doing... he told me we were moving to Switzerland to start over...”
“I know,” I whispered, rocking her gently. “I know, Ellie. You’re safe now.”
Ethan stepped on Julian’s outstretched wrist. A sickening crunch echoed through the quiet room as Julian screamed in agony.
“The flash drive,” Ethan said quietly.
Julian wept, sobbing into the floor. “Inside my left breast pocket! It’s all there! The Swiss bank codes, the port manifests, the twelve million! Just don't kill me, Ethan! Don't let Moretti have me!”
Ethan bent down, slid his hand into Julian’s tuxedo pocket, and retrieved a slim titanium USB drive. He examined it under the light, then slid it into his own pocket.
“I’m not going to kill you, Julian,” Ethan said, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion. “That would be a waste of a good lesson.”
Ethan snapped his fingers. Two of his men dragged Julian up by his arms, hauling him toward the back service elevators.
“Deliver him to Don Moretti’s front doorstep in Oak Park,” Ethan ordered his men. “Tell Moretti that Callahan returns what was stolen from his family. But tell him also that the Morales sisters are under the Callahan seal. If a single Moretti soldier so much as drives down the street where they sleep, I will burn the Chicago port terminals to the waterline.”
“Yes, boss,” the men replied, dragging a screaming, begging Julian out of sight.
Ethan turned back to the room. The police sirens were wailing in the distance now, growing louder with every passing second—at least ten squad cars racing down Michigan Avenue toward the Drake.
Ethan walked over to Elena and me. He crouched down, meeting my eyes. His knuckles were bruised, a smear of dark blood marking his cuff, but his gaze was fiercely protective.
“The police will be here in two minutes,” Ethan said. “They can’t touch you while you’re with me, but the questions will be endless. We need to leave. Now.”
Elena looked up at him, terrified. “Where are you taking us?”
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Ethan looked at me, his eyes softening in a way that made my chest tighten with a strange, dangerous heat.
“Home,” he replied.
