Chapter 3 - The Shadow of Tommy
The black, bulletproof Cadillac Escalade pulled up along the cracked curb of 18th Street in the heart of Pilsen—a neighborhood defined by crumbling brick tenements, rusty fire escapes, and icy winter wind sweeping off the lake.
Victor’s personal driver, a muscular, taciturn enforcer named Frank, stepped out into the freezing air and opened the rear door for Chloe.
The neighborhood kids playing on the snow-covered sidewalk stopped to stare in awe as the luxurious vehicle sat idling outside the dingy, three-story apartment building.
Chloe stepped out, clutching her small fabric purse tightly against her chest. Inside her bag sat the thick envelope of money Victor had forced into her hands, along with a prescription slip signed by a top private physician whom Victor had called personally before she left the estate.
“I’ll be waiting right here, Miss Bennett,” Frank said respectfully, bowing his head slightly. “Don Russo gave strict orders that I am not to leave this curb until you are safely back inside the vehicle.”
“Thank you, Frank,” Chloe whispered, still feeling as though she were walking through a bizarre, fever-induced dream.
She rushed up the narrow, squeaking wooden stairs of her building, her heart racing as she unlocked the rusted deadbolt of Apartment 3B.
The apartment was freezing. The ancient radiator in the corner was clanking uselessly, emitting only a faint hiss of cold steam.
Sitting on the faded green sofa, wrapped in three thick wool blankets, was her fifteen-year-old brother, Tommy. His face was terribly thin, his skin possessing a sickly, yellowish-grey hue that made Chloe’s heart bleed every time she looked at him. Resting on the floor beside him was his portable dialysis machine, its plastic tubes humming quietly as they filtered his blood.
“Chloe?” Tommy called out, his voice weak and scratchy as he turned his tired eyes toward the door. “You’re home early... Did you get fired?”
“No, Tommy,” Chloe said softly, dropping her bag and dropping to her knees beside his sofa. She wrapped her arms around his frail shoulders, burying her face into his neck, letting out a long, shuddering sob of pure relief. “No, baby. I didn't get fired.”
Tommy frowned, pulling back slightly to look at her flushed face. “You're burning up, Sis. You look terrible. Did those rich people at the mansion hurt you?”
“No,” Chloe said, shaking her head vigorously as she pulled the envelope of money from her purse and laid it across his blanketed lap. “Look, Tommy. Look at this.”
Tommy opened the thick envelope. His eyes widened in absolute shock as he saw stacks of pristine, crisp hundred-dollar bills—more money than their family had ever seen in their entire lives.
“Where... where did you get this?” Tommy breathed, his hands shaking. “Chloe, what did you do?”
“My employer... Don Russo,” Chloe explained, her voice dropping into an awed whisper. “He gave it to me. He sent a private doctor, Tommy. He’s paying for your specialty medications. He’s setting up a consultation at Northwestern Memorial Hospital tomorrow morning.”
Tommy stared at the money, then looked at his sister’s swollen, feverish eyes. Instead of excitement, a heavy cloud of fear crossed the teenager's face.
“Don Russo?” Tommy whispered, his voice trembling. “Chloe... that man is a mob boss. Everyone in Chicago knows who the Russos are! They run the docks! They kill people! Why would a man like that help us?”
Chloe went still. She recalled the terrifying presence of Marco Rossi in the bedroom that morning—the promise of cold violence that seemed to linger in every shadow of the Russo estate. But then she remembered the weight of Victor’s warm, large hand resting gently against her burning cheek. She remembered how he had placed her worn, broken shoe at her feet. She remembered how he had slept on the far edge of his own bed, giving her a safe place to rest without touching her once.
“He isn't what they say he is, Tommy,” Chloe whispered, trying to convince herself as much as her brother. “He protected me today.”
Before Tommy could answer, a sudden, heavy knock echoed against the thin wooden apartment door.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The entire door frame rattled on its hinges.
Chloe jumped to her feet, her instinctual fear returning in a sickening rush. She stepped in front of Tommy’s sofa, shielding him with her body.
“Chloe Bennett!” a harsh, gravelly voice barked from the hallway. “Open this door right now! We know you’re in there!”
It wasn't Victor’s men. It was the voice of Jimmy 'The Hammer' Vane—a vicious low-level loan shark associated with the rival Saleri family, to whom Chloe’s late father had owed forty thousand dollars in gambling debts before his death two years ago.
Chloe’s blood ran cold. She walked to the door, keeping the brass chain latch secured, and pulled the door open two inches.
Standing in the dim hallway were three large, heavily armed men in leather jackets. Jimmy Vane stood in the center, a cruel, yellow-toothed grin stretched across his scarred face as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Well, well,” Jimmy sneered, peering through the gap at her. “The little maid is home. We saw that fancy black Escalade parked on the street, girlie. Word on the block is you’ve been making nice with the Russo family.”
“I don't owe you anything, Jimmy,” Chloe said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to stay strong. “My father’s debt wasn't mine!”
“In this city, debts run in the blood, sweetheart,” Jimmy growled, leaning closer, his foul breath lingering in the doorway. “The Saleri family wants to know what you were doing in Victor Russo’s private bedroom last night. The house servants are already talking. Saleri will pay ten grand for whatever information you have on Russo’s security codes.”
“I don't know anything!” Chloe cried out, trying to slam the door shut.
Jimmy jammed his heavy steel-toed boot into the crack, preventing the door from closing. His grin vanished, replaced by a dark, murderous sneer as he drew a snub-nosed revolver from his coat.
“Listen to me, you little bitch,” Jimmy growled, shoving his heavy shoulder against the wood. “You’re going to open this door, you’re going to give us that money in your purse, and then you’re going to tell us everything you know about Victor Russo. Or I’m going to walk into that living room and disconnect your brother’s dialysis machine right now.”
Tommy let out a terrified scream from the sofa.
Chloe panicked, throwing her whole body weight against the door, trying to force Jimmy’s boot out of the frame. “No! Please! Don't touch him!”
Suddenly, a massive, gloved hand reached out from the darkness of the hallway behind Jimmy Vane.
The hand grabbed Jimmy by his collar and yanked him backward with staggering, terrifying power.
Jimmy screamed as his body was thrown violently down the narrow flight of wooden stairs, crashing through the drywall at the bottom landing with a sickening CRACK.
The two remaining loan sharks spun around, drawing their weapons—but they never had the chance to aim.
Victor Russo stepped into the dim light of the hallway. He was dressed in a pristine charcoal suit, his broad shoulders filling the narrow corridor, holding a silenced pistol in his right hand.
Before the men could react, Victor brought the heavy titanium grip of his gun down onto the first man’s jaw, breaking it instantly. He grabbed the second man by the throat, slamming him face-first into the brick wall until the man went completely limp and collapsed onto the floor.
Silence returned to the hallway, save for the heavy, rhythmic sound of Victor’s leather shoes walking toward the doorway.
Victor stepped over the unconscious men, stopping right outside Chloe’s apartment. He lowered his weapon, his cold, slate-grey eyes locking onto her terrified, tear-streaked face.
He looked past her into the small, icy apartment, catching sight of Tommy sitting frightened on the sofa.
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Then Victor looked down at Chloe, his hand reaching out to gently push open the door.
“I told my driver to stay at the curb,” Victor said softly, his deep voice filling the quiet hallway like a protective shield. “When he called to tell me three Saleri men were going up your stairs... I decided to handle the delivery myself.”
