I took the stairs two at a time, filing through the list of things I needed to do in my head—grab my stuff, say goodbye to Lindsay, get the hell out of Dodge. Turns out, it was a pretty short list.

Richard Sabella catching me in the act had not been part of the plan. On my way back to the condo, I’d called Antonio to tell him the news. Thankfully, he didn’t answer, so I was able to drop the bomb in a voicemail. Sabella knows I stole his information. He wants to kill me. See you soon. I didn’t have time to explain more fully or listen to Antonio tell me what I already knew. I’d fucked up.

My only consolation was that perhaps he didn’t know who I was working for, which meant I would be in the clear as soon as I left the city. And I was hoping Mr. Yancey would be able to stall for at least thirty minutes, meaning Sabella wouldn’t look for my home address to take things into his own hands until then. I had a little time.

As soon as I made it to our landing, I knew something wasn’t right. I’d never been one to believe in a sixth sense, but my entire body tingled with the wrongness. I slowed down, placing one foot in front of the other as if expecting a trip wire, eyes darting back and forth. And then, I noticed Lindsay’s door. It was cracked open, and as I moved closer, I noticed the faint impression of a boot print along the bottom.

Shit, shit, shit. I pulled out the gun I kept on me at all times and slowly pushed her door open. It opened a foot or more and then stopped, caught against something. My heart sank as I imagined Lindsay’s dead body on the other side of the door. I resisted the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, knowing I had to stay alert. There could still be someone inside waiting for me.

I peered around the door and relief flooded through me as I realized it was only a shoe that had stopped the door. But then I realized it was Lindsay’s shoe. One of the paint-splattered white sneakers she wore whenever she painted.

There was a splash of red across the laces, and I bent down to be sure it was paint and not blood. As I did, I noticed the rolled-up piece of paper that had been shoved inside the shoe. Still alert and gun at the ready, I pulled the note out and unrolled it. Loopy script slanted across the page. The message was short, but clear.

Gabriel,

Your girl will be safe only if you return what you stole from me.

-R.S.

Underneath his initials, Sabella left a phone number.

I knew Lindsay was gone, but that didn’t stop me from pulling out my phone to call her. When I did, I noticed the flashing icon in the corner of my screen. I had a voicemail. I didn’t even know I’d missed a call. When I saw it was from Lindsay, guilt and anger formed a toxic cocktail in my veins. I pressed play, taking a deep breath to prepare myself to hear Lindsay’s screams, her cries for help, the fear and trauma thick in her voice. Instead, she giggled.

“Hey Gabriel. You’ll never guess what happened to me today! I got the afternoon off and I sold my first painting. Can you believe it? I’m a real artist. The buyer is going to be here in a few minutes. You said last night you’d knock on my door when you got home, but how about I knock on your door when I’m free? We have to celebrate tonight. I’m thinking lots of alcohol, and maybe even a cake. This is the start of something good, I can tell.”

She sounded so happy. And it had all been a trick. Certainly, that was how Sabella, or whichever of his goons he sent in his stead, got into her apartment. They fooled her into thinking she was going to sell a painting. For some reason, that made her kidnapping worse. The fact that she had been so happy moments before her door was kicked in and she was hauled away.

Lindsay’s kidnapping also meant Richard Sabella knew a lot more about me than I’d given him credit for. He knew where I lived, he knew I was with Lindsay, and he almost certainly knew the Bianchi family had sent me. I’d almost convinced myself that it really had been a drunk driver that nearly ran Lindsay and I over the night of our first date, but now I knew the truth. Richard Sabella had known I was up to something from the start, and now if I wanted any chance of escaping the city with Lindsay or my life, I’d have to kill him.

“Please tell me you aren’t seriously still in the city.” Mr. Yancey sounded even older on the phone than he did in person.

“I need your help.”

After scouring Lindsay’s condo for any clue as to where she could have gone, I crossed the hall to my place to grab more ammo and another gun. If I was going to be facing off against Sabella and a team of his goons by myself, I’d need a gun in each hand.

Mr. Yancey groaned. “I already helped you. After years of quietly avoiding Richard Sabella, I lied to him today. I put my name on his radar. That is the only favor you are going to get from me.”

“You know more about his operations in the city than I do. Hell, you probably know more about them than almost anyone outside his circle. I just need you to point me in the right direction.”

“How about I point you to Hell,” he snapped. “I’m not risking my life for some kid who was dumb enough to get himself tangled up in this mess.”

“He kidnapped my girlfriend.” I had never called Lindsay my girlfriend before, and I wasn’t certain that she would like to be classified that way, but I was short on time. “If I don’t find where he is keeping her, he’ll kill her.”

Mr. Yancey let off a string of expletives under his breath, his breathing raspy and harsh in the phone speaker. “I’ll tell you what I can, but when I do, you lose my number? You understand? I don’t want another call from you. I don’t want to see your face ever again. Clear?”

“Clear,” I said. Once I found Lindsay, I had no intention of hanging around Chicago. And even if I did, Mr. Yancey wouldn’t be anywhere close to the top of my list of people I’d like to visit. In fact, I’d be more likely to stop in to see the barista with the man bun who poured my coffee a few times per week.

“I can’t tell you for sure where he has her, but I know he likes to use the buildings his company secures. He threatens the owners into keeping quiet. It’s a good protection racket he has going. There is a building a few blocks from his office, a tall white building with red lights around the top. I’d start there. If his guys were carting an unconscious woman, I’d expect they’d want to go somewhere close. Otherwise, you’ll need to get the full list of buildings they serve, and I can’t help you with that.”

I knew which building he was talking about. Most of the buildings in the business district were metal and glass, but this one looked like a modernized Roman temple. Plus, I could see the faint glow of the lights around the top from my window at night.

Before I could say anything in response, the line went dead. I was officially on my own.