Chapter 2 - The Interception
Damian ordered his driver to break every speed limit in the city.
The armored SUV roared through the dark streets of Chicago.
Clara had no idea she had stumbled into a massive mafia money-laundering operation.
She thought she was fighting for a wrongfully terminated coworker.
In reality, she had just painted a massive target on her own back.
Damian’s car screeched to a halt half a block away from Clara's modest brick apartment building.
He stepped out into the freezing rain, pulling a customized handgun from his shoulder holster.
Four heavy-set men in dark leather jackets were already picking the lock on the front security door.
Damian did not hesitate.
He raised his weapon and fired two shots into the brick wall right beside their heads.
The deafening cracks echoed down the empty street.
The Russian thugs turned in shock, raising their own weapons.
"Leave," Damian commanded, stepping under the glow of a flickering streetlight.
The leader of the thugs squinted through the rain and immediately recognized Damian Vetti.
The Russians lowered their guns, unwilling to start a turf war with the most powerful boss in Chicago.
They climbed back into their vans and sped away into the night.
Damian holstered his weapon and walked into the building.
He climbed three flights of stairs and knocked sharply on apartment 3B.
"Go away," a terrified voice called from inside.
"Clara, open the door," Damian said.
"How do you know my name?" she asked.
"I am the man from the confessional, and I have your flash drive," he replied.
The chain lock rattled, and the door slowly creaked open.
Clara stood there holding a heavy cast-iron frying pan like a weapon.
"You are definitely not a priest," she whispered, taking in his tailored suit and the dangerous look in his eyes.
"No, I am not," Damian agreed, stepping inside and locking the door behind him.
Before he could explain the danger she was in, Clara's cell phone rang on the kitchen counter.
She answered it, putting it on speaker.
May you like
"Hello, Miss Whitmore," Preston Hale's arrogant voice echoed through the small room.
"If you want to see Walter Bennett alive again, you will bring those access logs to the warehouse on 5th Street."
