Page 114 of Merciless Daddy

“And anyone watching believes I’m leaving Chicago?”

“That is the hope.”

“What if the garage is watched?”

“Then they’ll see six vehicles leave. The convoy exits first. We wait ninety seconds and take the service ramp.”

He opened the rear door of the first sedan.

Then stopped.

“Front or back?”

I looked at him.

“Where do you want to sit?” he asked.

It was a stupid question.

But for some reason it hit me.

In my father’s cars, I sat where I was placed. At the rear right if he wanted to speak to me. Rear left if another man had purchased the privilege of his attention. Between guards when he did not trust me.

This was my choice.

“Front,” I said.

Sal closed the rear door and opened the passenger door. I got in. He placed my private bag at my feet himself. The operational case went in the back.

The convoy rolled out. Dark windows. Identical vehicles. One after another.

We waited. Sal checked his watch. The driver watched the mirror. A guard in the second sedan lifted two fingers. Then we moved.

No racing. No squealing tires. We followed a concrete service lane between pipes and dumpsters, climbed a narrow ramp, and emerged into a Chicago morning that looked offensively normal.

People carried coffee. A man walked a dog. A bus stopped at the corner. Normal life, carrying on.

Sal handed me a phone.

“Secure. One contact for me. One for Kiryl. One emergency number that reaches Dante.”

I turned it over. “No tracker?”

“There is one, disabled at present. You may enable it if you want us to find you.”

“If I leave?”

He loked at me with those gorgeous brown eyes. “If you leave.”

“You think it’s a good decision to let me leave while someone’s hunting me?”

“I’ve made worse.”

“Falling for you.”

He held my gaze, and I saw deep tenderness there. Who was this man who held so much power, restrained so much violence, and felt so deeply?

“Anyway, your life is your own. I want you to feel like you can leave. You’re not a prisoner. Of course, I’d prefer if you stayed.”