Chapter 18 - Under the CityWhen I woke, I was moving.
Not in a car.
A boat.
Cold air cut across my face. My hands were tied in front of me. Duct tape pulled at my mouth. The smell of river water and diesel filled my lungs.
Chicago’s skyline glittered above me like another planet.
Roman sat across from me, perfectly dry beneath a black umbrella.
“You’re awake,” he said pleasantly.
I tried to speak.
He leaned forward and pulled the tape from my mouth.
Pain tore across my skin.
“You kidnapped me in front of police,” I gasped.
“I rescued you from my brother’s influence.”
“You’re insane.”
“No,” he said. “I am practical.”
The boat slipped beneath a bridge. City noise rumbled overhead, unaware.
Roman poured himself coffee from a silver thermos.
“My brother’s weakness is that he wants to be better than our father. I never suffered from that illness.”
“Your nephew is eight.”
“And will inherit everything if Mikhail dies.”
My blood chilled.
“You’re going to kill him.”
Roman smiled. “No. I am going to save him from a life he is too young to choose. The public will beg me to take custody after tonight.”
“You killed his mother.”
His smile flickered.
“Irina killed Anya.”
I stared.
Roman sipped his coffee.
“She panicked. Anya found the accounts. Irina cut the brake line to delay her. She did not expect the car to go over the bridge.”
“You covered it up.”
“Family is inconvenient.”
The boat slowed near an industrial dock.
Men waited in the shadows.
Roman stood and adjusted his cuffs.
“You will record a statement saying Mikhail forced you to help him hide Misha. Then you will disappear. Later, people will find evidence that you fled with money.”
“You think anyone will believe that?”
He leaned close.
“They already believe you kidnapped a child after feeding him pancakes.”
My stomach turned.
At the dock, one of Roman’s men grabbed my arm.
I stumbled.
My fingers brushed something in my coat pocket.
My father’s recipe book.
I had forgotten it there.
Inside the back cover, Dad had taped things he never wanted to lose. Old photographs. Emergency cash. A tiny pencil.
A tiny pencil.
As they dragged me into the warehouse, I slipped it into my palm.
Roman’s men tied me to a chair beneath a hanging light.
A camera stood in front of me.
Roman smiled.
“Begin.”
I looked into the lens.
Then down at the table.
And with the tiny pencil hidden against my thumb, I wrote one word on the white paper beneath my bound hands.
TUNNEL.
Because I finally remembered what Jerry had said.
May you like
My father had layers.
And one of those layers ran under this city.
