Chapter 3 - The Shadow Over Cicero
The Cicero warehouse was a vast, decaying structure of rusted iron and shattered glass, sitting on the edge of the industrial canal. For decades, it had served as the quiet, unofficial court of the Locke syndicate—a place where debts were settled away from the eyes of the law.
Inside, rain dripped through the high corrugated ceiling, rhythmic and steady against the cold concrete.
In the center of the floor, illuminated by a single hanging bulb, Tyler Grayson sat tied to an iron chair. His lip was split, his left wrist bound in a clumsy splint, and his face was pale with a mixture of sweat and absolute terror.
Two guards stood in the shadows, silent and motionless as statues.
The heavy sliding doors of the warehouse screeched open.
Gideon Locke walked in. He had shed his vest, wearing a crisp black shirt with the sleeves turned up to his elbows. He carried no weapons, no heavy iron tools. He didn't need them. His mere presence filled the vast, damp warehouse with an suffocating weight.
Tyler flinched, pulling at his ropes. "Look, man! I don't know who you are! If this is about the money I owe Marco, I can get it! I swear! I have a girl—she’s worth a lot of—"
BANG.
Gideon’s fist struck Tyler across the jaw with the force of an iron beam. Tyler’s chair tipped backward, crashing onto the wet concrete. Blood and two teeth flew onto the floor.
Gideon stepped over the fallen chair, leaning down and grabbing Tyler by the front of his collar, lifting him—chair and all—back upright with one arm.
"Do not speak her name," Gideon said, his voice terrifyingly calm, his eyes black pits of lethal rage. "Do not let her memory enter your filthy mouth again."
Tyler choked, spitting blood onto his shirt. "Please... please, man... she’s just a girl... why do you care about her?!"
Gideon drew a small silver fountain pen from his pocket. He uncapped it slowly. "Seven years ago, a man like you thought he owned a woman. He thought he could break her bones, quiet her voice, and sell her spirit. I wasn't there to stop him."
Gideon pressed the sharp tip of the steel pen directly into the flesh beneath Tyler’s collarbone, pushing just hard enough to draw a thin bead of crimson. Tyler gasped in agony, his body shaking uncontrollably.
"I am here today," Gideon whispered near Tyler’s ear. "Every tear she shed in that kitchen, every inch she had to crawl across that floor—you will account for it."
"Marco... Marco Salerno knows!" Tyler sobbed, his spirit breaking completely. "He knows I had her! He’s looking for her right now! If you kill me, he’ll find her!"
Gideon pulled the pen back, wiping the tip with a silk handkerchief.
"Marco Salerno is currently watching three of his main supply docks go up in flames," Gideon said coldly. "By midnight, he will have no men, no money, and no ground to stand on in this city. He cannot protect himself, let alone look for her."
Gideon turned his back on Tyler, walking toward the exit where Briggs held open a warm, dark wool coat.
"What... what are you going to do with me?!" Tyler shrieked after him, his voice echoing frantically off the iron rafters.
Gideon paused at the door, slipping into his coat. He didn't look back.
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"You like breaking legs, Grayson," Gideon said softly. "Briggs will ensure you spend the next six months learning what it feels like to live without them. After that, you will be handed over to the federal authorities for human trafficking. You will spend the rest of your natural life in a box."
Gideon stepped out into the rain, the heavy sliding door shutting behind him, cutting off Tyler’s screams forever.
