Chapter 3 - THE SHADOWS OF FEDERAL HILL
The freezer exhaust vent was a tight, grease-coated rectangular shaft designed for industrial air circulation, not human escape. But desperation is an incredible motivator.
With Chloe pushing from behind and Elena wriggling forward like a seasoned operative, they squeezed through the metal slats just as the kitchen door flew open behind them with a crash of splintering wood.
"They're in the back!" a voice shouted.
"Cut them off at the alley!"
They tumbled out into the cold, damp Providence air, landing in a pile of rotting cardboard boxes and plastic crates behind the diner. Before Chloe could even catch her breath, a dark, unmarked sedan slid silently out of the shadows, its headlights doused. The rear door popped open.
"Get in! Move, move, move!"
The man in the driver's seat had a jagged scar cutting across his left cheek and eyes like chipped obsidian. This was Dante—Gabriel Romano’s right hand, a man whose legend was whispered in hushed tones across every dock and social club in Rhode Island.
Elena scrambled inside without a second thought. Chloe hesitated for a fraction of a second, her normal life flashing before her eyes—her apartment, her job at the bookstore, her quiet routines. But as the sound of boots slamming against the alley pavement grew closer, she dove into the backseat and slammed the door shut.
Dante didn't waste a single breath on pleasantries. He slammed his foot on the gas, and the sedan rocketed backward out of the alley, tires screeching against the asphalt before spinning into a violent 180-degree turn and surging forward into the labyrinthine streets of Federal Hill.
"Are we clear?" Elena asked, leaning back against the leather seat, adjusting her oversized denim jacket with complete composure.
"For now," Dante growled, his eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the dark side streets. "Every rat in the syndicate is sniffing for you, kid. Half the police department is on someone else's payroll tonight. We can't go back to the mansion on the Point."
"Why not?" Chloe asked, clutching her bruised arms. "Isn't that where Gabriel is?"
Dante glanced at Chloe in the rearview mirror, his gaze appraising, sharp, and assessing every inch of her. "Gabriel's estate was compromised twenty minutes before the shooting started. Someone disabled the perimeter sensors from the inside. If we go home, we walk straight into an ambush."
Chloe stared out the window as the historic brick buildings of Federal Hill blurred past in a smear of neon and streetlights. "Then where are we going?"
"To a ghost," Dante said grimly. "The only place in the state where nobody dares to look."
The car wove through a maze of industrial warehouses near the Woonasquatucket River before plunging into the underground subterranean access roads beneath the old textile mills. The air grew damp, smelling of river silt and old iron.
As the sedan ground to a halt in front of a heavy iron bulkhead door, Chloe realized the terrifying depth of what she had stumbled into. This wasn't just a turf war between rival gangs. This was a coup inside the Romano empire. And she had somehow become a vital piece on a bloody chessboard.
May you like
Heavy footsteps echoed from the darkness ahead of them. A tall, imposing silhouette emerged from the gloom, flanked by two armed guards.
As the dim overhead bulb flickered to life, Chloe found herself staring face-to-face with Gabriel Romano.
