I was a broke waitress with an eviction notice in my purse when a dying six-year-old handed me her phone in a deserted Detroit garage. Minutes later, the city’s most feared man arrived with three black SUVs—and instead of asking who had hurt his daughter, Harlan Voss looked straight at me and demanded to know who had saved her.

Harlan aimed the heavy shotgun directly at the electronic keypad on the steel door.

He pulled the trigger, and the deafening blast completely shattered the locking mechanism.

He kicked the heavy door open, and thick white gas poured out into the hallway.

I grabbed Belle and ran out of the panic room, gasping desperately for clean air.

Harlan provided cover fire, shooting wildly down the corridor to keep Silas's men back.

We sprinted toward the massive master bedroom at the end of the east wing.

Bullets tore through the drywall behind us, showering our backs with white plaster dust.

Harlan slammed the bedroom doors shut and locked the heavy deadbolts.

He threw the massive Persian rug aside, revealing a hidden trapdoor built into the floorboards.

He yanked the iron ring, opening a dark, narrow shaft leading beneath the foundation.

He told me to climb down the rusty ladder and hold Belle as tightly as I could.

I descended into the freezing darkness, my arms aching from the weight of the little girl.

Harlan climbed down right after us and pulled the heavy wooden trapdoor shut.

We were standing in an old, damp prohibition tunnel that smelled like rotting earth.

Harlan turned on a small tactical flashlight, illuminating the cracked brick walls.

We ran blindly through the winding underground maze for what felt like hours.

Belle was struggling to breathe again, her tiny heart fluttering dangerously against my chest.

I told Harlan that she desperately needed her emergency medication.

He said there was a hidden underground garage at the end of this tunnel with a getaway car.

We finally reached a heavy iron door at the end of the passage.

Harlan pushed it open, revealing a dusty concrete bunker holding a vintage black muscle car.

He tossed me the keys and told me to get in the driver's seat.

I strapped Belle into the back seat and climbed behind the steering wheel.

Harlan opened the heavy garage doors leading out into a dry drainage canal.

He jumped into the passenger seat and told me to start the engine.

I turned the silver key in the ignition.

The engine did not roar to life.

The Mafia Boss Asked a Disabled Widow If She Was Okay

“Who taught you those words?”

“SIR... MY MOMMY NEEDS A BOYFRIEND.”

Instead, a bright red digital timer illuminated on the dashboard directly in front of me.

The timer was counting down from ten seconds.

Chapter 5 - The Tunnels