Chapter 3 - THE PRICE OF TAKING HIM INSIDE
By noon, Eliza’s apartment was surrounded by consequences.
A Chicago police detective named Ana Morales arrived after a neighbor reported armed men entering the building. Dante’s attorney appeared ten minutes later. Dr. Rinaldi arranged to move Nero to a private veterinary facility under police observation.
Eliza answered every question truthfully except one.
She did not mention Owen’s messages.
Not because she wanted to protect him.
Because she did not yet know whom the messages endangered more.
Detective Morales photographed the bullet and placed it in an evidence bag.
“Why didn’t you call animal control?” she asked.
“He was bleeding out.”
“You performed a procedure on him?”
“I stabilized a wounded animal.”
“With supplies from Chicago Memorial?”
Eliza glanced toward her open medical bag.
A vial of local anesthetic lay among the used gauze.
She had taken it from an expired-emergency kit scheduled for disposal. Hospital policy still classified that as unauthorized removal.
“I used what I had.”
Detective Morales’s expression softened slightly.
“That may have saved the dog. It may also cost you your job.”
By three o’clock, the hospital had placed Eliza on administrative leave pending review.
Her supervisor spoke with practiced disappointment.
“You should have called a veterinary professional.”
“At two in the morning, in an alley, while he was bleeding?”
“You exercised medical judgment outside your scope.”
Eliza knew the criticism was not entirely wrong.
Saving Nero did not place her above accountability.
But after twenty-one hours awake and months of double shifts, the suspension meant more than humiliation. Her rent, student loans, and health insurance depended on a job she might lose.
Owen knew that.
He had still brought the dog to her neighborhood.
That evening, Detective Morales called with information about the bullet. Preliminary markings were consistent with rounds recovered from two earlier shootings connected to thefts from Moretti warehouses.
“The same weapon may have been used,” Morales said.
“Does Dante know?”
“He knows we’re examining it.”
Eliza heard the caution in her voice.
“You think he’ll interfere.”
“I think Mr. Moretti is accustomed to solving problems without waiting for court dates.”
Eliza looked through her blinds.
A black sedan remained parked across the street.
Dante claimed the men inside were protecting her.
She did not know from whom.
After dark, she searched Owen’s room at the apartment he rented above a laundromat in Pilsen. The landlord let her in after she showed proof that Owen had listed her as an emergency contact.
The room looked abandoned in a hurry.
A drawer remained open. Clothes covered the bed. His phone charger was plugged into the wall, but the phone was gone.
Inside the closet, Eliza found a canvas warehouse jacket with a tear along one sleeve. Dark blue fibers clung to dried blood near the cuff.
A city map lay folded in the pocket.
Miller’s Alley had been circled.
So had her apartment.
Behind the map was a storage-unit receipt paid in cash.
Eliza drove to the facility near Cermak Road and used Owen’s birthday as the keypad code.
The metal door rolled upward.
Inside were sealed cartons bearing Moretti Cartage labels, three prepaid phones, a black duffel bag and a child-sized wooden box Eliza recognized immediately.
It had belonged to their mother.
Inside were old photographs, hospital bills and the letters Eliza wrote to Owen when he spent six months in a rehabilitation program at twenty-one.
Beneath them lay a ledger filled with dates, truck numbers and payments.
The first entries were small.
Five hundred dollars.
Eight hundred.
Then the numbers grew.
The most recent payment was $25,000.
Beside it, Owen had written:
D.M. river inspection. 1:30 a.m. Side gate.
Eliza stared at the initials.
Dante Moretti.
Owen had sold the details of Dante’s movements.
Her phone vibrated.
A prepaid number had sent an address in an industrial district near the river.
COME ALONE.
May you like
Underneath was one more line.
IF DANTE FOLLOWS YOU, OWEN DIES.
