Chapter 2 - The Name on the Paper
The paper was brittle, worn down at the creases as if it had been opened and folded a thousand times. The handwriting was unmistakable—slanted, elegant, yet hurried, written in blue ink that had faded slightly over time.
“If you are reading this, Jonathan, it means I am either dead or they have found us. Lila is your daughter. Protect her.”
Below the words was a date from five years ago, followed by a signature that shattered two decades of icy detachment in a single second: Elena.
My heart hit my ribs like a sledgehammer. The air in the pawnshop felt thick, suffocating.
Elena. The only woman who had ever seen past the tailored suits and the blood on my hands. The woman who had disappeared five years ago without a trace, leaving me to believe she had been killed in the crossfire of the syndicate war that nearly took my life. I had burned half of Chicago searching for her back then, only to end up with empty rooms and cold leads.
She hadn't died. She had been running. Running from me. Running to keep our child away from the shadow of my name.
"Mr. Reed?" Mr. Collins's voice trembled from behind the counter, cutting through the roaring noise in my ears. "Are... are you alright, sir?"
I didn't answer him. Slowly, I lowered my hands and knelt on the dirty linoleum floor until I was eye-level with the little girl.
I looked at her now with eyes that were suddenly uncluttered by disbelief. The dark green of her eyes—exact replicas of my own. The slight cleft in her chin. The stubborn set of her jaw as she stared back at me, waiting for my verdict.
"Lila," I said, my voice surprisingly raspy. "Your mother... her name is Elena?"
The little girl’s eyes widened slightly. "You know my mama?"
"I did," I managed to say, every word feeling like glass in my throat. "A long time ago."
I stood up, turning to Collins. Without taking my eyes off the counter, I reached into my coat, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and slammed them down beside the glass display case.
"Take what it costs," I commanded, my voice dropping back into the hard, absolute tone that made grown men flinch. "And give me the bracelet."
Collins didn't even bother counting the money. His hands shook violently as he unlocked the display case, pulled out the delicate gold chain, and handed it over.
I turned back to Lila, kneeling once more, and held out the bracelet. Her small fingers reached out, taking the gold like it was made of spun glass. She clutched it against her chest, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.
"Thank you, mister," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Jonathan," I corrected softly. "My name is Jonathan."
She nodded, pressing her small lips together.
"Where is your mother right now, Lila?" I asked, placing a heavy hand gently on her tiny shoulder.
Her smile melted away, replaced by that quiet, heartbreaking sorrow again. "She... she went to work yesterday morning at the laundry place. But she didn't come home last night. A bad man came to our door this morning. He said Mama owed money for the apartment and that if she didn't pay by tonight, bad things would happen."
My blood ran cold. "What bad man?"
"He had a tattoo of a bird on his neck," Lila murmured, looking down at her shoes. "He took Mama's purse from our kitchen table."
A crow. The mark of the Moretti crew—the low-level vultures who controlled the loan sharking and extortion rings on the South Side. Victor Moretti’s men.
A dark, lethal rage surged through my veins, warmer and more dangerous than any feeling I’d had in years. They had touched what was mine. They were leaning on Elena, completely unaware of whose shadow was standing behind her.
I picked up the tiny cloth pouch containing Lila's eighty-seven dollars and handed it back to her, along with her crumpled fifty-dollar bill.
"Keep your money, Lila," I said, looking her dead in the eyes. "Your deal is accepted."
"What deal?" she asked innocently.
"You gave me that paper," I said, carefully folding Elena's note and placing it inside the inner pocket of my jacket, right against my heart. "And in return, I am going to bring your mother home."
I stood up, grabbed my heavy trench coat, and reached down. Lila looked at my hand, hesitate for half a second, and then wrapped her tiny fingers around mine.
As we walked out of the pawnshop into the cold Chicago rain, two sleek black SUVs pulled up to the curb. The doors flew open, and six armed men in dark coats stepped out, led by my right-hand man, Marcus. Marcus took one look at the little girl holding my hand, then at the expression on my face, and his hand instinctively moved toward his shoulder holster.
May you like
"Boss?" Marcus asked, his voice low and alert. "Is there a problem?"
"Call the captains," I ordered, lifting Lila into the back seat of the lead vehicle and sliding in beside her. "Tell them Jonathan Reed is back in the field. And tell Victor Moretti that if anything happens to Elena Vance before I reach his territory, I will burn his entire syndicate to the ground."
