Chapter 7 - The Enemy of My Enemy
The blinding headlights of the delivery truck cut through the torrential rain, illuminating the absolute chaos in the woods.
"Move, Sarah!" Owen screamed over the roar of the diesel engine.
I didn't hesitate. The pain in my abdomen was a dull roar compared to the primal instinct to survive. I scrambled through the mud, slipping and sliding, desperation fueling every step.
Agent Miller shoved Christopher roughly to the ground, abandoning her prisoner to ensure her own survival. She grabbed Maria’s arm, hauling the terrified housekeeper toward the open back doors of the delivery truck.
We scrambled into the dark, cavernous cargo hold, collapsing onto the corrugated metal floor as bullets began to ping violently against the thick, armored exterior of the truck.
"Hold on!" Owen yelled from the cab.
He threw the heavy truck into reverse, the massive tires spinning wildly in the mud before finding purchase on the crushed remains of Rossi's SUVs. The truck lurched backward, smashing through the treeline and tearing out onto the service road.
I lay on the cold metal floor, gasping for breath, clutching my stomach. Maria was sobbing quietly in the corner, overwhelmed by the trauma of the night. Agent Miller was frantically checking her weapon, her professional demeanor shaken but intact.
I crawled toward the small access window separating the cargo hold from the cab.
"Owen!" I shouted over the engine noise. "What is going on? Why is Dominic with you?!"
Dominic turned around in the passenger seat, his scarred face illuminated by the dashboard lights. He offered a grim, humorless smile.
"The enemy of my enemy is my getaway driver, Sarah," Dominic shouted back.
Answer One, Open Two. Dominic had allied with my brother to escape Rossi's men. But why would a ruthless mob boss partner with a civilian tattoo artist? And if Dominic was helping us escape, what did he expect in return once we were safe?
"I found him in the foyer," Owen explained rapidly, keeping his eyes on the winding, rain-slicked road. "He was pinned down by Rossi's men. I needed a distraction, he needed a ride. He told me where Christopher kept the keys to the armored delivery trucks in the underground garage."
"You trusted him?" I asked, staring at the man who had ordered hits and laundered millions.
"I trusted that he hates Carlo Rossi more than he hates us," Owen reasoned practically.
"He's right," Dominic interjected, loading a fresh shell into the tactical shotgun. "Rossi crossed a line tonight. You don't bring a private army onto another man's estate without starting a war. But right now, we are severely outgunned. We need a safe house."
"We can't go to the police," Miller warned from the back, moving closer to the access window. "Rossi owns the precinct captains in this district. If we walk into a station, we'll be dead in a holding cell by morning."
"I have a safe house," Dominic offered smoothly. "An old warehouse on the South Side. Completely off the grid. No electronic surveillance, no listed ownership. We can regroup there."
"No," I said firmly, my voice surprisingly steady despite the terror still coursing through my veins.
Everyone in the truck looked at me.
"We are not going to a mob safe house," I stated, staring Dominic dead in the eye. "I am not trading one cage for another. You want to use us as leverage against your brother or Rossi. I won't allow it."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "You don't have a lot of options, sweetheart. You're a pregnant woman running from a cartel. You need my protection."
"I don't need your protection, Dominic," I said coldly. "I need leverage."
I looked at Miller.
"You said Christopher's laptop was downloading files from the Rossi servers," I recalled, my mind racing to assemble a desperate plan. "You said he stopped it at ninety-two percent by smashing the screen."
"Yes," Miller confirmed, frowning. "The download was interrupted. The data is corrupted. It's useless."
"The screen is broken," I corrected, a fierce determination settling over me. "The hard drive might still be intact. If the download reached ninety-two percent, there is enough fragmented data on that drive to piece together the offshore routing numbers. I worked in an accounting office for four years before I married Christopher. I know how to recover fragmented financial data."
"You want to go back for the laptop?" Owen gasped, horrified by the suggestion. "Sarah, the house is swarming with Rossi's men! It's suicide!"
"I don't want to go back," I said, pointing toward the heavy canvas duffel bag Dominic had thrown onto the floorboard when he climbed into the truck. "I want Dominic to open his bag."
Dominic stiffened, his hand hovering near the shotgun.
"How did you know?" Dominic asked quietly, the dangerous mob boss persona slipping slightly to reveal genuine surprise.
"Because you're an opportunist, Dominic," I deduced, locking eyes with him. "When Owen found you in the foyer, you were pinned down. But you had been in the study earlier. You saw the broken laptop. You wouldn't have left without a bargaining chip. You took the hard drive before you ran."
Dominic stared at me for a long, tense moment. He slowly reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a jagged, rectangular piece of metal and silicon. The extracted hard drive.
"You're smarter than your husband, Sarah," Dominic admitted, tossing the hard drive through the access window. I caught it clumsily.
"I need a computer," I told Miller. "A clean, secure terminal not connected to the local police networks."
"I know a place," Miller said, pulling a burner phone from her tactical vest. "An FBI cyber-security outpost hidden in a commercial office building downtown. It’s strictly off the books for operations exactly like this. Rossi's men won't know it exists."
"Take us there, Owen," I ordered.
Owen nodded, steering the heavy truck onto the interstate, blending in with the sparse, early-morning commercial traffic heading toward the city skyline.
The drive took forty tense, agonizing minutes. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, leaving me shivering and exhausted. Maria held my hand, offering silent comfort, while Miller sat tensely by the doors, weapon ready.
We pulled into the underground parking garage of a sleek, nondescript high-rise in downtown Chicago.
Miller led us to a service elevator, swiping a high-level security badge to access a restricted floor.
The doors opened onto a sterile, brightly lit office space filled with banks of servers and sophisticated computer terminals. The room was empty; it was a designated 'ghost site' for covert operations.
"Sit down," Miller directed me to a primary terminal. She handed me a specialized USB adapter to connect the damaged hard drive.
I sat down, my heavy belly bumping against the desk. I plugged in the drive. The computer recognized the hardware, but as Miller predicted, the files were heavily encrypted and corrupted.
I cracked my knuckles, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second to focus. I wasn't a hacker, but I was a brilliant accountant. I knew how financial software structured its temporary data files during mass transfers.
I began typing rapidly, initiating a deep-level data recovery protocol. Lines of code scrolled quickly across the black screen.
"How long will this take?" Dominic asked impatiently, pacing the room like a caged tiger.
"Ten minutes to bypass the corruption," I muttered, not looking away from the screen. "Another five to decrypt the fragmented routing tables."
"We don't have fifteen minutes," a cold, calm voice echoed from the entrance of the server room.
We all spun around.
Standing in the doorway, holding a suppressed pistol, was Christopher.
My husband.
His face was battered, his clothes ruined, and his severed thumb hastily bandaged, but he looked incredibly dangerous. He had tracked us.
"Step away from the computer, Sarah," Christopher commanded, raising the gun. "You're going to hand that drive over to me."
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"You're supposed to be in cartel custody," Dominic sneered, raising his shotgun. "How did you escape Rossi?"
"I didn't escape," Christopher smiled, a chilling, dead expression. "I made a deal."
