Chapter 10
The midnight air was crisp and bitter as Edric stepped out onto the private loading dock behind the country club.
The heavy, matte-black Suburban stood idling beneath the halogen floodlights, its reinforced chassis sitting low on heavy-duty run-flat tires. Silas held the rear door open, while two armed enforcers in dark tactical gear stood watch at the perimeter gate, assault rifles held in low-ready positions.
Edric carried Fleur against his chest, wrapped completely in his heavy wool overcoat so only her small face was exposed to the night wind. The child was fast asleep, her breathing steady and warm against his neck.
He climbed into the spacious, leather-lined interior of the vehicle, settling Fleur into the custom child safety seat bolted directly to the reinforced floor frame. He clicked the five-point harness into place with practiced, gentle care, making sure the straps were snug over her birthday dress.
Beside her seat, resting on the console, sat the silver baby rattle Silas had retrieved from the roof.
Edric reached into his waistcoat, pulled out his encrypted satellite phone, and powered it on.
The screen blinked to life, displaying a single, unread voice message from an unlisted number originating in Cook County, Illinois.
Edric hit play and held the speaker to his ear.
A voice with a harsh, raspy midwestern cadence echoed through the line, layered over the low, rhythmic hum of industrial machinery:
"Edric. You survived your birthday. Impressive reflexes with the town car. But your sister was an amateur. She thought she was playing for the docks. I’m playing for blood. Clara belonged to Chicago before she ever met you, and her daughter belongs to us. Bring whatever soldiers you have left across the state line, Edric. Let’s see if your little empire can survive the winter."
The call disconnected with a hollow mechanical click.
Edric did not blink. He lowered the phone, his face carved from unyielding granite beneath the cabin lights.
Silas climbed into the front passenger seat, turning around to face his boss. "Route is cleared through Pennsylvania, Mr. Whitburn. We have three chase cars trailing five miles back."
"Good," Edric said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, ancient frequency that had ruled three states for twenty years.
"What are your orders when we hit Chicago, Boss?" Silas asked.
Edric reached out, his thick, scarred fingers closing around the silver rattle, feeling the cold weight of the metal in his palm. He looked back at his sleeping daughter, watching her chest rise and fall in the quiet warmth of the armored car.
"Find Dominic Moretti's house," Edric said softly. "And burn it down with him inside."
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Silas nodded once, his expression hardening into iron. "Drive," he commanded the wheelman.
The heavy black Suburban surged forward into the darkness, its tires gripping the damp asphalt as it cleared the gates, accelerating into the black expanse of the interstate, heading straight into the fire of an oncoming war.
