CHAPTER 3 — THE MAN CHICAGO FEARED
CHAPTER 3 — THE MAN CHICAGO FEARED
The emergency department fell into a silence so complete that even the heart monitors seemed quieter.
Beth stood frozen.
The tall man in the charcoal overcoat was close enough that she could see tiny drops of rain melting from his dark hair onto the shoulders of his coat. His face was striking, almost impossibly composed, but there was nothing warm in his expression.
Only calculation.
Only grief held together by discipline.
Around him, nearly twenty men formed an invisible wall.
Not one of them spoke.
Not one of them needed to.
Beth swallowed.
"...Yes."
The man's eyes searched hers.
"You performed CPR."
"I did."
"You broke her ribs."
Beth's stomach dropped.
"I had to. It's normal during effective CPR. If I hadn't—"
"I know."
His interruption was calm.
"My mother would be dead."
That answer surprised everyone in earshot.
Even Detective Raymond Collins looked up.
The man extended his hand.
"My name is Dominic Moretti."
Beth knew the name.
Everyone in Chicago knew the name.
Officially, Dominic Moretti owned shipping companies, luxury hotels, commercial real estate, and one of the largest logistics firms in the Midwest.
Unofficially...
People lowered their voices before saying his last name.
Rumors surrounded him like smoke.
Smuggling.
Money laundering.
Political influence.
Disappearances.
Nothing had ever been proven.
Nothing ever seemed to stick.
Beth hesitated before shaking his hand.
His grip was steady.
Not crushing.
Not intimidating.
Just deliberate.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
The words sounded genuine.
Then his expression changed.
"But now we have a problem."
Beth frowned.
"What problem?"
"My enemies watched you save my mother."
A chill crawled down her spine.
"They know your face."
"They know your hospital."
"They know your name."
He glanced toward the glass entrance where armed security had doubled.
"As of tonight..."
"...they will assume you know something."
"I don't know anything."
"They won't believe that."
Detective Collins stepped forward.
"Mr. Moretti, this hospital is now an active crime scene."
Dominic didn't even turn.
"I know."
"My officers need to interview Nurse Gallagher."
"You can."
"Without interference."
Dominic finally looked at him.
"I haven't interfered."
The detective held his ground.
"Not yet."
For a long moment neither man moved.
The tension felt almost physical.
Finally Dominic nodded once.
"I'll wait."
Beth spent another forty minutes answering questions.
Every minute made less sense than the last.
The toxicology report confirmed cyanide.
Security footage from nearby intersections showed three black SUVs circling the area before the attack.
No cameras covered the alley itself.
Almost as if someone had planned for that.
Then another discovery arrived.
One of the detectives hurried into the room carrying a clear evidence bag.
"We found this."
Inside was a tiny silver button.
Expensive.
Handmade.
Beth recognized it instantly.
"It came from her coat."
"No."
The detective shook his head.
"It wasn't hers."
He turned the bag over.
Engraved on the back was a tiny crest.
A black falcon.
Dominic's eyes hardened.
For the first time since arriving...
Real emotion crossed his face.
"No..."
Detective Collins noticed.
"You know that symbol."
Dominic answered without hesitation.
"I hoped I'd never see it again."
"What is it?"
"The Falcone Syndicate."
The room became still.
"They're supposed to be gone."
Dominic's voice lowered.
"I buried their leader twelve years ago."
Across the city...
Inside an abandoned warehouse near the river...
A television showed live footage outside Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
Several men watched in silence.
One finally smiled.
"So..."
he murmured.
"She survived."
Another man loaded a magazine into a pistol.
"What now?"
The first man reached into his pocket and removed a photograph.
Beth Gallagher.
Taken only twenty minutes earlier outside the ambulance entrance.
Someone had already been watching.
He placed the photograph on the table.
"Now..."
he said softly,
"...we remove the witness."
Back at the hospital...
Beth finally changed out of her bloodstained scrubs.
She pulled on clean clothes from her locker.
Her hands still trembled.
She just wanted to go home.
She opened the employee exit.
A security guard blocked the door.
"I'm sorry, Nurse Gallagher."
"What?"
"You can't leave."
"Why not?"
He looked embarrassed.
"Mr. Moretti instructed us—"
Beth's temper flared.
"He doesn't instruct me."
"No..."
came a calm voice behind her.
"I don't."
She turned.
Dominic stood alone this time.
No bodyguards.
No detectives.
Just him.
"I asked."
"I appreciate the concern."
"I'm not concerned."
That caught her off guard.
"I'm being realistic."
He handed her a tablet.
Security footage.
The alley.
A distant camera had captured only the entrance.
Three figures stepped out moments after the ambulance left.
One pointed directly toward where Beth had been kneeling.
Another appeared to photograph her.
The timestamp was less than ten minutes after she departed.
Beth felt sick.
"They came back..."
"Yes."
"They were checking whether you finished the job."
"I didn't."
"No."
Dominic looked her directly in the eye.
"You ruined someone's very expensive plan."
That same moment...
Three miles away...
A motorcycle rolled quietly into an underground parking garage beneath the hospital.
The rider removed his helmet.
Gray hair.
Clean suit.
No expression.
He opened a slim metal briefcase.
Inside rested a precision sniper rifle broken into six pieces.
He assembled it with practiced ease.
Forty-eight seconds.
He looked through the scope toward the illuminated hospital windows.
A smile slowly appeared.
May you like
"One nurse," he whispered.
"One shot."
