Chapter 8 - The Shadow of the Canal
“You are not going,” Oliver said, his voice flat, absolute, and leaving zero room for debate.
They were standing in the private back hallway behind Rosalind’s kitchen. Outside, rain pounded against the alley pavement with relentless fury.
“They have my mother and sister!” Emma shouted, her composure cracking for the first time in months. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “You don't understand, Oliver! Wanda is awful, and Coraly lied to me, but they are my family! If Viktor Dragos hurts them because of me—”
“Dragos is in prison,” Oliver interrupted coldly. “This is not Dragos.”
Emma froze. “What?”
Gideon stepped forward, holding up his phone displaying a live intelligence feed. “Viktor Dragos surrendered his territorial rights two months ago. The men operating out of the South Side canals now belong to Marco Vain.”
Emma blinked, trying to make sense of the name. “Vain? Like... Priscilla Vain?”
“Her older brother,” Oliver explained, his eyes burning with a dark, lethal fire. “Marco Vain runs a human trafficking and extortion ring through the river docks. When Priscilla was arrested and lost her stolen fortune, Marco pledged to avenge his family’s honor. He couldn't reach me directly because my security is impenetrable. So he used your family to draw you out.”
Emma leaned against the brick wall of the hallway, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “They used my sister’s voice to lure me into a slaughterhouse.”
“Coraly may not have had a choice,” Oliver said gently, stepping closer to her. He raised a hand, his large thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. The gesture was surprisingly tender, contrast against the lethal aura radiating from him. “Or she may have sold you out for a bag of cash. Either way, you walk into that warehouse, you don't come out.”
“So what do we do?” Emma whispered, looking up into his dark eyes. “Do we just leave them to die?”
“I do not leave my debts unpaid,” Oliver said quietly. “And Marco Vain made a fatal error when he brought his garbage into my city.”
He turned to Gideon. “Call the Vanguard team. Full tactical assembly. Blockade every exit along the canal from 31st Street to the river.”
“Boss,” Gideon warned softly. “That’s a full-scale territorial strike. The police precinct will respond.”
“The police chief works for me now,” Oliver said smoothly. “Tell him to turn off the street cameras in District 4 for the next two hours.”
He turned back to Emma, taking her hand in his. His grip was warm, solid, and utterly reassuring.
“You stay here, Emma.”
“No,” Emma said firmly, tightening her grip on his fingers.
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “This is not a restaurant, Emma. This is blood.”
“My family is in that building,” Emma said, her voice dropping into that quiet, unbreakable register that had defied Priscilla three months ago. “If I stay here in this pretty room while people fight for my life in the dark, I’m no better than the cowards who sat in this dining room and laughed at your parents.”
May you like
Oliver stared at her for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, a slow, dark smile carved its way across his face.
“Gideon,” Oliver commanded without taking his eyes off Emma. “Bring her a bulletproof vest. And put her in the back of my car.”
