Chapter 4 - The Moving Target
By 6:00 AM the following evening, the DeLuca penthouse was a hive of controlled, lethal activity.
Rain was pouring over Chicago in sheets, heavy and unrelenting, turning the city lights eighty stories below into smeared blobs of red and gold.
In the private garage beneath the building, three black, heavy-armored suburban SUVs sat idling, their exhaust pipes sending white clouds of vapor into the damp air. Eighteen armed men, dressed in heavy tactical gear beneath long dark coats, stood surrounding the vehicles.
Marco stood near the lead vehicle, holding an encrypted satellite phone to his ear.
"Clear the route on I-90," Marco barked into the receiver. "I want two scout cars two miles ahead of us. If a highway patrol officer so much as pulls behind the convoy, redirect him."
He snapped the phone shut and turned to Caruso. "Is my mother ready?"
"She’s coming down the private elevator now with the caregiver," Caruso replied, checking his sidearm.
The heavy steel elevator doors hissed open.
Isabella walked out, leaning heavily on a carved wooden cane. She wore a thick black wool coat, a grey silk scarf wrapped around her throat, and her eyes were dark with worry.
Beside her, holding her arm with practiced, steady grace, was Lena.
Lena wore her simple grey tunic beneath a thin black raincoat she had bought at a thrift store three years ago. She carried a small leather bag containing Isabella’s emergency oxygen tank, heart medications, and portable IV kit.
Her face was dead calm, but beneath her coat, her ribs ached from the tension. She had spent the last twelve hours watching the guards, noticing the small details: how Caruso’s hand twitched near his holster, how the drivers checked their mirrors every thirty seconds, how Marco’s jaw never relaxed.
They were walking into a trap. She felt it in her bones.
Marco stepped toward his mother, his expression softening slightly as he took her other arm.
"It's a long drive, Mother," Marco said gently. "Get into the middle vehicle. It has the thickest plating."
"This is ridiculous, Marco," Isabella grumbled, though her legs were shaking slightly from the exertion. "Running out of my home in the middle of the night like a thief."
"It's a security measure," Marco said firmly. He opened the rear door of the center black SUV.
The interior was lined with reinforced steel, plush black leather, and bulletproof glass three inches thick.
"Get in," Marco ordered softly.
Isabella stepped into the high vehicle, settling into the heavy leather seat.
Lena stepped up to follow her, holding the medical bag.
Marco reached out, his hand slamming flat against the door frame, blocking her path.
He looked down at Lena with cold, imperious eyes.
"You don't need to go," Marco said flatly. "The medical team at the estate will take over when we arrive. Your shift ends here."
Lena looked at his hand blocking her way. Then she looked past him into the dark interior of the SUV, where Isabella was turning her head, looking anxious and frail among the heavy leather and steel.
"Mrs. DeLuca needs her seven o'clock beta-blockers, Mr. DeLuca," Lena said, her voice dropping into that same quiet, unshakeable tone. "If her heart rate spikes during the drive because she is anxious, she will go into atrial fibrillation before you reach the highway. The estate medical team won't be able to restart her heart in the back of a moving car."
Marco’s eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask for a medical lecture."
"You asked me to do my job eleven months ago," Lena replied, looking him square in the eye. "Let me do it."
For two seconds, Marco stared at her. The utter lack of fear in her face seemed to infuriate and intrigue him in equal measure.
"Get in," Marco growled, ripping his hand away from the door. "Sit in the back. Keep your mouth shut."
Lena climbed into the rear seat beside Isabella, pulling the heavy door closed behind her.
Marco climbed into the front passenger seat, closing his door with a heavy thud.
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"Move out," Marco ordered the driver.
The three heavy black SUVs lurched forward, their tires squealing against the concrete ramp as they surged out of the subterranean garage and into the storm-drenched streets of Chicago.
