Part 20
The trap was set at the St. Jude Cathedral on the South Side of Chicago—an abandoned, gothic masterpiece of stained glass and crumbling stone that had once been controlled by the Romano family.
It was 1:00 AM.
The city outside was silent, wrapped in a thick blanket of fog.
Inside the cathedral, the air was freezing, the smell of old incense and damp wood hanging heavy in the cavernous space.
Viktor Volkov stood before the main altar, surrounded by ten of his top lieutenants.
He was an older man, his face scarred by decades of prison fights, his silver hair slicked back. On the altar sat a rugged, military-grade laptop connected to a satellite uplink.
The encrypted ledger file was open on the screen, a red progress bar blinking: Awaiting Cipher Input.
"Where is he?" Volkov growled, checking his gold watch. "He said he would bring the boy here to trade for his life."
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral creaked open.
A single silhouette stepped through the fog, walking slowly down the center aisle.
It wasn't Adrian.
It was Emma.
She wore a long, black trench coat, her face pale but completely steady. In her hand, she held the platinum medallion, the chain dangling between her fingers.
The Russian guards instantly raised their weapons, the clicks of their triggers echoing like firecrackers in the silent church.
"Stop," Volkov commanded, his eyes locking onto the silver disc in her hand. "You're the waitress from the pharmacy. The one who shot my man."
"I am the woman holding your future," Emma said, her voice clear and resonant, echoing off the high stone arches.
"Where is Romano?" Volkov demanded, stepping down from the altar. "Where is the baby?"
"Adrian is dead," Emma lied, her voice devoid of any hesitation. "His wound opened up. He bled out in the car two hours ago. I don't care about his empire. I don't care about his war. I just want to live."
She held up the medallion.
"He told me what this is. He told me it unlocks everything. Take it, let me leave with the baby, and we are even."
Volkov studied her face, searching for a lie. But Emma had spent years looking at dying children in hospitals; she knew how to look at death without blinking.
Volkov smiled, a cruel, triumphant expression. "Smart girl. Give it to me."
One of his guards walked down the aisle, snatched the medallion from Emma's hand, and brought it to Volkov.
Volkov turned the disc over, reading the microscopic numbers under a small magnifying glass beside his laptop.
He began to type the characters into the terminal one by one.
Emma stood perfectly still, her hand tucked inside her coat pocket, her fingers resting against the cold handle of the Glock 19.
She knew that from the high shadows of the cathedral's choir loft above, Adrian was watching through the scope of a sniper rifle.
"Almost done," Volkov muttered, hits enter key with a heavy thud. "The midwest belongs to—"
The computer screen suddenly turned a violent, flashing red.
A loud, piercing alarm emitted from the speakers.
Text began to scroll across the screen at lightning speed: SECURITY BREACH. DIRECT UPLINK TO INTERNAL REVENUE SERVICE AND FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION ESTABLISHED. DATA PURGE IN PROGRESS.
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Volkov’s face turned from triumph to pure horror. "What is this? What did you do?!"
"Goodbye, Viktor," Emma whispered.
