Chapter 9
Ryan burst through the heavy oak doors of the master suite. The luxurious room was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the darkness of the hallway below. Lily was sitting on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, swinging her legs, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation.
Through the open door of the en-suite bathroom, Ryan saw Sarah. She was standing awkwardly on the heated marble floor, clutching a fluffy white towel to her chest. She looked frail, shivering despite the warmth of the room.
Emily rushed in behind Ryan, her breathing heavy. She gently approached the terrified girl and knelt beside her.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Emily cooed softly, placing a reassuring hand on the girl's thin shoulder. "Can you show Ryan what you showed me?"
Sarah looked at Ryan, her large eyes filled with a desperate need for approval. She slowly turned her back toward him and let the towel drop slightly, exposing her pale, prominent shoulder blades.
Ryan stepped closer, his jaw tight. There, inked violently into the delicate, rosy skin between her shoulder blades, was a dark, jagged tattoo. It wasn't a professional piece of art; it looked like it had been done with a crude needle and rough ink.
It was a string of numbers. Coordinates.
41.8781° N, 87.6298° W
Ryan stared at the numbers, his mind instantly running the calculation. He knew those coordinates. Every mob boss on the East Coast knew those coordinates. It was the location of the old shipping yards in Chicago—a neutral ground, a place where syndicates met to negotiate treaties, or declare total war.
"What does it mean, Ryan?" Emily asked, standing up and wrapping the towel securely back around the little girl. "Why would someone do this to a child?"
"It's an invitation," Ryan said, his voice terrifyingly hollow. "They marked her. They knew I would find her eventually, and they wanted to make sure I knew exactly where to go to find them."
"You can't go," Emily pleaded, grabbing his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "It's a trap, Ryan. They breached our home. If you leave, they might come for Lily. They might come for me. We need to call the Commission. We need to call a sit-down."
"There are no sit-downs for this, Emily!" Ryan exploded, the calm, composed facade completely shattering. He turned to face her, his eyes blazing with a violent intensity. "They killed Maria. They starved my daughter in a wall for four months! The Falcones are dead, but someone picked up their banner, and I am going to bury them so deep the devil won't find them."
Sarah flinched at his shouting, taking a step back until she bumped into the marble vanity.
Ryan instantly softened. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and knelt down on the bathroom floor.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," Ryan whispered. "I'm not mad at you. I promise."
May you like
Sarah looked at him, her lip trembling. "The bad man said you would be mad."
"I'm not," Ryan assured her, reaching out to gently touch her messy brown hair. "Sarah, do you remember the bad man's face? Do you remember anything about him?"
