Chapter 4 - The Black Sedan
“What did she say?” Gabriel asked, his gaze fixed on his mother’s hands before flicking back to Chloe.
Chloe swallowed the lump of iron in her throat. “She says... she says there are men watching the street. Santoro’s men.”
Gabriel didn't look surprised. His jaw tightened into a grim line that aged him ten years in five seconds. “Domenic wasn't working alone. If he was setting the trap tonight, he had a cleanup crew waiting outside to ensure nobody walked out if things went south.”
He stepped across the wine-soaked rug, stopping three feet from Chloe. He was so tall he blocked out the chandelier light, his shadow swallowing her completely. “Get your coat.”
“I’m not getting into a car with you,” Chloe said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound tough. “I know who you are, Mr. Costello. People who get into your cars don't come back.”
Beatrice suddenly stood up from the table. For a woman who looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over, she moved with surprising speed. She grabbed Chloe’s hand—her fingers were calloused, warm, and unexpectedly strong—and held it between both of hers.
She looked up into Chloe’s eyes, her gaze fierce and maternal, and signed with one hand against Chloe’s palm:
Trust me, little bird. My son is a barbarian, but he will burn this city to ash before he lets anyone touch a hair on your head. Come with us.
Chloe stared at the old woman. For two years, she had felt like an invisible ghost drifting through diner booths and subway platforms. Nobody touched her. Nobody looked at her hands. Nobody cared if she lived or died as long as the coffee was hot.
Now, an Italian matriarch with pearls and blood on her shoes was looking at her like she was family.
“Fine,” Chloe whispered. “Five minutes. My locker is in the basement.”
“Two minutes,” Gabriel corrected, unbuttoning his wine-stained suit jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “Nico, bring the armored Suburban to the kitchen loading dock. Marco, lock the front gates and tell the staff to go out through the neighboring bakery.”
Chloe sprinted down the narrow metal stairs to the employee locker room. Her hands shook so violently she dropped her key twice before finally getting the locker open. She grabbed her worn olive-green canvas jacket, shoved her seventy-four dollars and her cracked iPhone into her pocket, and ripped off her apron.
She stopped at the mirror. Her face was chalk-white, dark purple circles bruising the skin under her eyes from months of insomnia and overtime.
What are you doing, Chloe? she thought. You’re running with the Mob.
A sudden, sharp crack echoed from the street level above.
Not a backfire. A silenced pistol shot. Followed immediately by the shattering of Il Canto’s front plate-glass window.
Screams erupted from the front dining room.
Chloe gasped, ducking beneath the metal bench as heavy, combat-booted footsteps pounded across the floorboards directly over her head.
“Check the kitchen!” a harsh, unfamiliar voice shouted from the upper hallway. “Rossi said the girl signs! She knows the drop! Find the girl and take her head!”
Chloe pressed her palm against her mouth, choking back a sob. They weren't just after Gabriel. Domenic had marked her the second she translated that sentence.
The metal door of the basement locker room was kicked open with an explosive bang.
A man in a black tactical jacket stepped into the doorway, a submachine gun raised to his chest, the red laser sight cutting through the fluorescent dust.
He swept the room, the red dot landing directly on the center of Chloe’s forehead.
“Found her,” the man muttered into his radio headset.
Before his finger could tighten on the trigger, a hand reached out of the darkness behind him, wrapped around his throat, and yanked him backward into the corridor with the terrifying force of an industrial press.
A wet crunch echoed through the hall.
The submachine gun clattered against the concrete floor.
Gabriel Costello stepped over the unconscious body, holding a heavy Glock equipped with a carbon suppressor. He didn't have a scratch on him.
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He reached down, grabbed Chloe by the elbow, and hauled her up onto her feet like she weighed nothing.
“Time's up, Bennett,” Gabriel whispered, his cold breath brushing her ear. “We’re leaving.”
