Chapter 5 - The North Gate Rendezvous
The wind howled outside the reinforced windows of the master suite like a pack of starving wolves. Clare moved silently through the dark room, stripping off the ruined, blood-stained black silk dress that felt like a cage of memories she no longer wished to keep. She pulled on a thick, dark cashmere sweater, carefully easing the tight collar over her head while gritting her teeth against the blinding pain shooting through her fractured left forearm.
Every movement was a calculated risk. Downstairs, Gabriel and his strike team were preparing for a retaliatory bloodbath against Viktor Vance and the Northside crew. The entire estate was buzzing with the low, electric hum of armed guards checking weapons, engines idling in the heated underground garage, and encrypted radio chatter bouncing off the satellite dishes on the roof.
If she was caught sneaking out to meet a clandestine underground doctor during a syndicate war, Gabriel wouldn't just interrogate her—he would lock her away in a gilded cage so deep she would never see the light of day again.
She checked the antique clock on the mantelpiece: 3:14 AM.
Her burner phone vibrated softly against the mahogany tabletop. A single text message glowed on the screen: *At the north service gate. Move.*
Clare didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy wool parka, pulled the deep hood over her wet hair, and slipped out of the master suite through the private service stairwell—a narrow, forgotten corridor built for the estate’s domestic staff decades ago. The floorboards were old and creaked underfoot, but the raging storm outside easily swallowed the minor noises of her escape.
She navigated the labyrinth of dark hallways until she reached the heavy metal fire exit leading out to the abandoned sculpture garden near the northern perimeter wall. The heavy door pushed open with a quiet click, letting in a blinding gust of freezing wind and swirling snow that instantly bit into her cheeks like tiny shards of glass.
She plunged into the knee-deep drifts, shielding her injured arm against her chest as she waded through the blinding white expanse toward the iron picket fence of the north gate.
Parked just beyond the rusted bars was an unmarked, nondescript gray van with its engine idling quietly, its exhaust pluming into the freezing night air.
As Clare reached the gate, the side door of the van slid open with a soft clatter. A beam of dim amber light spilled onto the snow, revealing the weathered, lined face of Dr. Julian Vance—Viktor Vance’s estranged younger brother, and the only underground surgeon in Chicago willing to patch up enemies of the Russo syndicate for the right price.
“You look like hell, Clare,” Julian muttered, reaching out a gloved hand to haul her through the narrow gap in the iron bars.
“Save the commentary, Julian, and just get me fixed,” she hissed, stumbling into the warmth of the van as the door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the howling wind.
Julian flicked on a brighter overhead light, taking in her pale complexion, her shivering frame, and the ugly, swollen lump beneath the torn sleeve of her sweater. Without a word, he grabbed a heavy pair of medical shears and began cutting away the remaining ruined fabric of her makeshift sling.
“A clean break of the radius and ulna,” Julian diagnosed clinically, gently pressing his fingers against her forearm. Clare let out a sharp gasp, her fingernails digging deep into the foam padding of the seat. “How did you manage this? Gabriel’s men said you stayed back at the pavilion.”
“Gabriel’s men are idiots,” Clare panted, closing her eyes as waves of nausea washed over her. “A support beam collapsed during the shipyard raid three nights ago. Gabriel was pinned underneath. I pulled him out before the fire reached the fuel tanks. Something heavy caught my arm on the way.”
Julian paused, looking up from her arm with a mix of shock and reluctant admiration. “You pulled the great Gabriel Russo out of a burning warehouse? And you didn't tell him?”
“If Gabriel knew I saved his life, he’d never let me out of his sight,” Clare said bitterly, opening her eyes to meet the doctor’s steady gaze. “He keeps me around to look pretty at dinners and project an image of a cold, untouchable boss. He doesn't need a wife who plays hero. He needs a liability he can control.”
“And yet, here you are, patching yourself up in the back of my van while your husband goes out to start a war over a staged drive-by,” Julian noted dryly, reaching for a portable electric cast cutter.
“The drive-by wasn't staged,” Clare corrected him sharply. “Someone tried to kill old Elias tonight at the service entrance. The Northside crew is getting sloppy, or someone inside the Russo house is leaking our movements to Viktor.”
Julian went still, the medical saw hovering inches from her arm. “An inside leak? In Gabriel’s inner circle?”
“Think about it, Julian,” Clare whispered intensely, leaning forward despite the pain. “Who knew exactly when the primary convoy was leaving? Who stood to gain if Gabriel was distracted by a turf war while his perimeter security failed?”
Julian’s eyes widened slowly as the pieces clicked together in his mind. “Leo Vain.”
Before Julian could respond, the screech of tires echoed from down the private access road. Through the frosted windshield of the van, two massive black SUVs came tearing around the bend, their high-beam headlights slicing through the blizzard as they sped away from the estate toward the city docks.
May you like
Clare’s heart skipped a beat. Gabriel and his strike team were moving out. The war had officially begun.
“Finish the cast, Julian,” Clare said, her voice dropping into a cold, lethal register that made the underground doctor shudder. “Fast. Because once Gabriel deals with Viktor at the docks, I need to get back inside that house before anyone realizes I was ever gone.”
