Chapter 6 - Ambush on Congress Parkway
The impact rattled Sadi’s teeth, sending her flying forward against the dashboard before the seatbelt locked tight across her chest.
“Hold on!” Roman roared, his hands instantly gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity.
Another black sedan roared out from a side street, cutting off their escape route and slamming broadside into the driver’s side door. Glass exploded inward, showering the cabin in glittering shards.
“Vance’s clean-up crew,” Roman muttered, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line. He slammed the SUV into reverse, burning rubber against the pavement, smashing the rear bumper into the grill of the first car before shifting violently into drive and flooring the accelerator.
The SUV surged forward, leaping over a low concrete median and barreling down a narrow service alley behind a row of brick warehouses.
“Down!” Roman shouted, reaching across the console to push Sadi’s head down as a flurry of gunshots cracked through the night air.
Pop-pop-pop!
Bullets chewed through the rear windshield, raining safety glass over the back seats. Sadi shielded the canvas-wrapped ledger with her own body, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. This wasn't a corporate dispute anymore. This was an execution squad.
“They’re trying to box us in!” Sadi yelled over the screaming engine.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Roman snarled.
He whipped the steering wheel hard to the left, sliding the heavy SUV around a tight corner on two wheels before hurtling onto the main thoroughfare of Congress Parkway. Sirens wailed in the distance—whether police or Costa reinforcements, Sadi couldn't tell.
Roman didn't slow down until they crossed the Chicago River bridge, ducking into the subterranean parking garage beneath a sprawling financial high-rise downtown. He killed the headlights, cut the engine, and let the SUV coast silently into a dark, unassigned parking slot behind a massive concrete pillar.
Silence descended upon the vehicle, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine and the sound of their own ragged breathing.
Sadi slowly lifted her head, checking herself over. Scratched, bruised, but intact. She looked down at the ledger—completely unharmed.
“Are you hit?” Roman asked, turning toward her urgently, his eyes scanning her face and shoulders for any sign of blood.
“I’m fine,” Sadi breathed out, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady. She looked at him—a small drop of blood was trickling down from a shallow cut on his temple where glass had grazed his skin. “You’re bleeding.”
Roman wiped the blood away with the back of his hand without even flinching. “It’s nothing.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt, popped the glove compartment, and pulled out an encrypted satellite phone. He punched in a short sequence of numbers, holding it to his ear.
“Dad. It’s Roman. We were hit on Congress Parkway by Vance’s detail,” Roman said, his voice cold, commanding, and utterly devoid of the erratic temper he had displayed at Tossano’s. “The ledger is safe. But our route to the federal plaza is burned... Yeah. Deploy the second detail to secure the safehouse on Dearborn Street. We’re moving now.”
He clicked the phone off and looked back at Sadi.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
May you like
Sadi gripped the ledger, opened her door, and stepped out onto the concrete floor of the parking garage, standing tall despite her shaking knees.
“I’ve walked home through worse neighborhoods than this with a tray of martinis in my hands,” Sadi said, her chin lifting defiantly. “Let’s go see Federal Prosecutor Vance.”
