Chapter 6 - The Blue Island Run
The green Land Cruiser sat under the stone portico at the front of the estate, its engine idling with a low, deep rumble.
Nora sat behind the wheel. She had put her gray uniform jacket back on, her dark hair pulled back into a hasty pony tail, her broad hands gripping the leather steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.
The front door opened.
Dominic walked out, now wearing a heavy black wool overcoat over his dark trousers and shirt. He carried no bags, no guards, no weapons visible to the eye.
He slid into the passenger seat, closing the heavy armored door with a solid THUD.
Nora turned to look at him. She looked at his pale face, at the faint dark stain beginning to bloom through the white wool of his collar where his shoulder bandage had stretched, then down at his calm, steady hands resting on his lap.
"It’s done?" she asked quietly.
"Marco is in the boathouse," Dominic said. "We have four hours before his south side crew realizes he isn't answering his phone. Drive."
She shifted the heavy transmission into gear and slammed her foot onto the accelerator. The heavy SUV roared down the long, winding asphalt driveway, its headlights cutting through the thick October fog rolling off the lake.
They drove in silence for twenty minutes, heading south along Lake Shore Drive toward the city lights that burned like orange embers against the black sky.
Dominic leaned his head back against the leather headrest, his eyes half-closed, his breathing slow and measured.
"You're bleeding again," Nora said quietly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"It will hold," he murmured.
"You're a stubborn, arrogant man, Dominic Reyes," she said, her tone devoid of fear or respect, holding only a strange, quiet exasperation. "You should be in an ICU connected to a morphine drip."
"Morphine makes a man soft," Dominic replied without opening his eyes. "Soft men end up like my father."
"Your father wasn't soft," Nora said flatly. "He was cruel. There’s a difference."
Dominic opened his left eye, studying her profile in the dim dashboard light. Her broad cheekbones, her strong jaw, the steady, unhurried way her hands managed the heavy steering wheel as they navigated the slick pavement—she looked like she belonged to the city more than he ever had.
"My father protected this family for forty years," Dominic said softly.
"Your father protected his money," she corrected him. "He used men like my father like fuel for his engines. When the fuel ran out, he scraped the tank clean and bought another truck."
Dominic did not argue. He turned his face toward the window, watching the dark outlines of the steel mills and railyards appear in the distance—the silent, rusted skeletons of East Chicago that had birthed his family’s wealth and her family’s ruin.
"Why Blue Island?" Dominic asked after a long pause. "Why did your father leave the book at a union bank?"
"Because the bank president was my godfather," Nora said. "He was one of the few men who didn't take money from Hector Reyes. He kept that box under his own name for twelve years. Every month, I go there and pay twenty dollars in cash to keep the lease active."
"And the key?"
"I lied to you," she said calmly, taking a sharp right turn onto 47th Street.
Dominic didn't move. "You lied?"
"The key isn't behind the painting in my sister’s room," she said, glancing at him for a second. "I knew if Marco was watching the hospital, his men would check the room the moment my name came up. The key has been in my shoe since the day I walked into your house."
Dominic let out a low, rustling laugh that turned into a sharp cough, making him wince as he clutched his bandages.
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"You're a dangerous woman, Nora Castillo," he rasped, his eyes shining with a strange, dark amusement.
"I’m a woman who wants her sister to live, Mr. Reyes," she said, stopping the SUV in front of a low, square brick building with steel security bars over the windows and a rusted sign that read FIRST MUTUAL UNION BANK. "Now get out. We have twelve minutes before the night manager changes shifts."
