Chapter 23 Jace
JACE
I've been pushing the truck past its limits to get home and ignoring the protests from the engine that's been running hot since the confrontation with Bryan at that storage facility.
The heater struggles to keep the cab warm, and my breath still fogs in the air despite the fan blowing at maximum capacity.
December in Chicago brings bone-deep cold that seeps through metal and glass and settles into your marrow.
After that info from Lucas, I'm not stupid enough to believe my house will be safe, but I have a stash of cash hidden there that I need if Sabine and I are going to survive the next few weeks.
It's money I saved up for a rainy day, and though it's a cloudless gunmetal sky overhead, I think I need an umbrella.
That's where my mind stays stuck in a loop as I close the distance and hit the home stretch.
Sabine stirs beside me when the truck slows as I turn into my neighborhood.
She sits up and rubs her eyes, looking out at the houses that line both sides of the street with elaborate holiday decorations.
Strings of lights outline rooflines and wrap around trees, inflatable snowmen and reindeer fill front yards, and nearly every window glows with the warm light of Christmas displays.
"Your neighborhood's really decked out." Her voice is rough from sleep, and she yawns before turning to look at me. "Must be nice living somewhere that goes all in on the holidays."
"I don't really participate." My house comes into view at the end of the block, and it stands in stark contrast to the festive displays surrounding it.
The windows are dark, the porch bare of decorations, the yard empty of inflatable figures or light displays.
It looks abandoned compared to the cheerfulness of my neighbors' homes.
Sabine notices the difference and frowns. "You really don't do holidays, do you?"
"Never saw the point." I pull the truck to the curb three houses down from mine and kill the engine. "Growing up in the gangs, holidays were just another day. The Mob doesn't exactly encourage festive cheer either."
She doesn't respond, and I appreciate that she doesn't try to convince me that I'm missing out on something meaningful. We both know my relationship with all things normal is complicated at best, and this isn’t the time to explore why I keep myself separate from the things other people find comforting.
"Wait here." I open my door and step out into the freezing night air. "I need to grab something from inside, but I don’t want you coming in with me. If there’s trouble, you drive away and don’t look back. Understand?"
"Jace, I'm not leaving you if something goes wrong." Sabine's expression is determined, and I can see she's preparing to argue about this.
"You will if I tell you to." I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but she needs to understand that this isn’t negotiable.
"If Barone's people are in there waiting for me, you can’t help me by getting caught too.
You have evidence to protect and witnesses to keep safe.
That matters more than trying to save me from consequences I brought on myself. "
She opens her mouth to protest, then closes it and nods reluctantly. "Be careful. Please."
I cross the street and approach my house through the shadows between streetlights.
I move cautiously the way I do when I’m on the prowl, even though it’s my own home.
The front door is closed but not locked, and when I test the handle, it turns easily under my palm.
Someone's been here, and they didn’t bother to secure the door when they left.
Inside, it's pitch black and smells wrong, a combination of spray paint and something else I can’t immediately identify. I pull out my phone and use the flashlight function to illuminate the living room, and what I see makes my jaw clench.
The furniture has been overturned and slashed, stuffing pulled from couch cushions and scattered across the floor.
The television is smashed, the screen shattered and hanging at an angle from the wall mount.
Pictures have been torn down and their frames broken, glass crunching under my boots as I move farther into the house.
Every surface is covered in debris, and someone has taken the time to systematically destroy everything I own.
A message appears on the wall above the fireplace, scrawled in red spray paint with letters three feet tall.
TRAITOR. The handwriting is unmistakable, all capitals with the distinctive way the R curves at the bottom and the T crosses high above the crossbar.
I've seen it graffitied dozens of times and I know exactly who wrote this.
Carlo Rossi.
He's one of Barone's most trusted enforcers and a man I've worked alongside for years. He was sent here to deliver a message and make it clear that my betrayal has been noted and won’t be forgiven.
The vandalism is personal, meant to destroy my sense of security and belonging.
This is no longer my home. This is a crime scene that proves I'm now a target.
I move quickly through the destroyed rooms toward the basement door, stepping over broken furniture and avoiding the worst of the debris.
The door hangs open and the stairs descend into darkness that my phone's flashlight barely penetrates.
I take each step carefully, listening for any sound that might indicate someone's still here waiting to ambush me, but I think they're long gone now. I'd have heard them by now.
The basement is largely untouched. Either they didn’t find the entrance to my hiding spot or they ran out of time before finishing their destruction.
I cross to the far wall where concrete blocks form the foundation, counting from the corner until I reach the one I need.
The block slides out with minimal effort, revealing the hollow space behind it where I stashed the waterproof bags years ago.
The cash is still there, twenty thousand dollars in hundreds and fifties to make it easy to spend, all in non-sequential bills that have been laundered and aren't easily traced.
I pull the bags out and shove them into my jacket pockets, then replace the block and make my way back upstairs.
Every second I spend in this house increases the risk that someone will return or that neighbors will notice activity and call the police.
I exit through the front door and lock it behind me out of habit, though the gesture's meaningless now.
This house is compromised and I'll never be able to come back.
Everything I owned is destroyed or abandoned, and the life I built in this neighborhood is over.
It's a sickening feeling knowing my own family turned on me because I wouldn't kill an innocent woman, but that’s the life I live and the world I live in.
Sabine sits up straighter when she sees me approaching the truck, and her eyes widen when she takes in my expression. "What happened? Are you alright?"
"They were here." I climb into the driver's seat and start the engine, pulling away from the curb before she can ask more questions. "Barone sent his enforcers to leave a message. The house is destroyed, and they made it clear that I'm a dead man if they find me."
"Where are we going?" Her tone hints at worry that she tries to hide, but I can hear it beneath the act. She's a horrible liar.
"Somewhere they wouldn't think to look." I turn down a residential street toward a part of the city a little less populous. Sketchy is what normal folks would call it, but I can disappear there without Barone coming looking. "We'll find a room we can get for cash and hunker down."
Sabine must sense my frustration because she says nothing at all the full thirty minutes it takes to find a cheap motel.
I'm seething, but there's nothing I can do about it.
When Lucas told me what Barone had done, I knew I'd come back to this.
It's just a hard reality to face. Now I'm just looking forward to getting this over with.
My new reality waits for me on the other side.
"Wait here" I tell her as I park and open the truck door.
The motel squats between a bowling alley that's hopping tonight and an abandoned church with boarded-up windows. The glowing light overhead says Vacancy, and that’s all I care about.
I slip in through the front door and walk right up to order a room.
The clerk takes my cash without asking for identification and hands me a key attached to a plastic tag with the number seven printed on it.
He doesn’t look at my face or ask any questions, and I appreciate his ability to not care about life at all.
This is exactly the kind of privacy we need right now, a place where discretion is the primary service being sold.
Room seven is at the far end of the building, and I pull the truck around to park directly in front of it.
The room smells like cigarettes, which is normal in older motels, and the furniture has seen better decades, but the locks work and the windows have curtains that block the view from outside.
Sabine sets her bag on the bed and wraps her arms around herself as she takes in the sight.
"You need to stay here while I go meet my friend." I pull out half the cash from my jacket and set it on the dresser. "If I don’t come back by morning, take this money and run. Get as far from Chicago as you can and find somewhere safe to hide until you can figure out your next move."
"You're coming back…" It's cute how she thinks she can order me to stay alive, like she orders a coffee at Starbucks. "You're not allowed to get yourself killed after everything we've been through together."
"I'll do my best." The promise feels hollow because I can’t guarantee my survival, but I need her to believe I have a chance. "Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone except me. Understand?"