Chapter 8 - The Trail to the River
For seventy-two non-stop hours, the city of Philadelphia experienced the terrifying weight of Rafferty Castellano’s full, unchecked power.
Shipping terminals were locked down. Union halls were surrounded by armed men. Corrupt police captains were hauled out of their homes in the middle of the night and interrogated in dark alleyways.
Rafe didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He moved through the city like a force of destruction, hunting for the quiet woman who had sat outside his office for five years.
Every lead seemed to crumble under scrutiny, but Rafe refused to yield. He knew that time was running out, that every passing hour increased the likelihood of a permanent silence being imposed upon his secretary.
On the third night, a torrential downpour lashed against the glass windows of the Castellano building.
Sunny Falco burst into Rafe’s private office, breathless and soaked in autumn rain.
"We found Marco," Sunny rasped out, holding a bloody leather notebook. "We caught him trying to board a flight to Miami. He broke after five minutes in the warehouse."
Rafe stepped out from behind his desk, his dark coat already in his hands. "Where is she?"
"An abandoned grain elevator near the river," Sunny said, his voice grim. "Camila’s father owns the industrial plot. Camila went there an hour ago with two hitmen. She’s closing the loose end tonight, Rafe."
Rafe’s face went dead white.
"Get the cars," Rafe commanded, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "If anything has happened to her, Warick Sutcliffe’s entire union empire burns before sunrise."
The convoy of black sedans tore through the rain-slicked streets of South Philadelphia, tires screaming against the asphalt. Rafe sat in the back of the lead vehicle, his hand gripping his St. Christopher medal so tightly that the bronze edges bit into his scarred palm.
May you like
He remembered the twelve-year-old brother he had failed to save seventeen years ago. He remembered the three-minute delay that had haunted his entire life.
He swore to whatever god was listening that he would not be late tonight.
