Mister, put your dog in timeout!” Three-year-old Lucy Bennett marched into the private meeting of the most feared man in Chicago with one hand on her hip and the other gripping what

Up on the surface, twenty blocks away from the flooded subterranean labyrinth, the Chicago night was split by the wail of distant sirens that never seemed to get closer—each one carefully routed away by corrupted dispatchers on Gabriel’s payroll.

An armored, matte-black Suburban idled in the shadows of an abandoned railway loading dock behind Chinatown. The vehicle’s engine hummed with a low, predatory purr, its reinforced doors standing open.

Nora sat in the back seat, her hands trembling as she smoothed down the frayed, soaked hem of her ruined ballgown. Her face was pale, smeared with soot and dried river silt, but her jaw was set with a fierce, unbreakable resolve. In her arms, Lucy was fast asleep, her small face pressed against Nora’s collarbone, one sticky little hand still tightly clutching the ear of Captain Carrot. The stuffed rabbit was damp, but safe.

Frank stood by the open passenger door, sweeping the perimeter with a high-powered thermal scope while Mason monitored a secure satellite radio inside the cabin.

"No movement on the thermal feed from the North Side precinct," Mason muttered, his fingers flying across a ruggedized laptop. "CPD is completely blindfolded. But I'm picking up three unassigned vehicular signatures closing in from Roosevelt Road. Heavy transports. Not police."

Nora looked up from Lucy, her voice sharp despite the exhaustion dragging at her bones. "Are they Vincent’s men?"

"No, Mrs. Calder," Frank said quietly, not lowering his rifle as he scanned the dark brick alleyways. "Those aren't our frequencies. That's South Side syndicate clean-up crew. Gabriel had a backup protocol in case the primary ambush failed."

"How long do we have?" Nora asked, her voice steadying as the maternal protective instinct completely overrode her fear.

"Minutes," Mason replied, tapping a key on his console. "Maybe less if Vincent doesn't check in on the encrypted line."

Just as the tension in the vehicle reached a snapping point, the heavy iron gate at the end of the alley clanged open. A single figure emerged from the darkness, limping slightly, dragging a second, heavier form behind him.

Nora gasped, throwing the door open and tumbling out onto the wet asphalt before Frank could stop her. "Vincent!"

Vincent dropped Gabriel’s weight onto the concrete. The scarred man groaned, his hands zip-tied tightly behind his back with heavy-duty tactical cuffs. Vincent’s tuxedo was shredded, his face streaked with dried blood and mud, but his dark eyes were burning with an intensity that made even Frank take a half-step back.

He looked at Nora, his gaze softening for a fraction of a second before hardening back into steel.