Chapter 8 – THE MIDNIGHT TICKET
Union Station. Platform 4. Midnight.
Gabriel stared at the heavy cardstock ticket.
“He wants me to leave with him,” Gabriel said, his voice deadened by betrayal. “He wants me to get on that train and leave Chicago. Leave the life I built.”
“You cannot go, Gabriel,” Margaret pleaded, clutching the edges of her shawl. “Antonio is a poison. If you get on that train, you will become exactly like him.”
I looked at Gabriel. The powerful man who had commanded an army of men just hours ago now looked like a lost, grieving boy.
“Gabriel,” I said softly, stepping closer to him. “You don’t owe him anything. He let your mother’s murderer sit at your dining table. He isn’t your family. We are.”
Gabriel looked at me, his dark eyes searching my face.
Then he looked at Margaret.
“You’re right,” Gabriel said, his voice hardening with resolve. “But if I ignore this, he will shadow my life forever. I have to look him in the eye and end this.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said instantly.
“No, Claire. It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care,” I shot back, surprising myself with my own fierce tone. “I am not letting you face him alone. You stood in the mud for my mother tonight. I am standing with you for this.”
Gabriel stared at me for a long moment. Finally, he nodded.
We drove to Union Station in complete silence.
The massive, cavernous terminal was eerily empty at this hour, echoing with the sound of our footsteps against the marble floors.
Platform 4 was shrouded in shadows and thick, hissing steam from the idling midnight locomotive.
Standing by the open door of the first-class car was a lone figure wearing a dark fedora and a heavy camel-hair coat.
Gabriel stopped ten feet away.
“Father,” Gabriel called out, his voice echoing in the damp air.
The figure slowly turned around.
Under the dim, flickering platform light, the man tipped his fedora upward.
Gabriel froze.
It wasn’t his father.
The man was younger, with sharp, aristocratic features and cold, pale blue eyes.
“Hello, Gabriel,” the man smiled smoothly.
“Uncle Julian,” Gabriel breathed, his shock absolute.
Julian Vescari. Gabriel’s uncle. The man who had supposedly been exiled to Italy two decades ago.
“I see you found the watch,” Julian said, casually leaning on a silver-tipped cane. “And the lighter. It took quite a bit of effort to acquire Antonio’s old trinkets from his grave.”
“His grave?” I whispered.
Gabriel stepped forward, his fists clenched. “My father is dead?”
“Of course he is,” Julian laughed dryly. “He died of a heart attack five years ago in Sicily. But keeping his ghost alive was the perfect way to manipulate Arthur Hale. Arthur was terrified of Antonio. And he was terrified of you.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “You orchestrated this. Not my father. You used Arthur to flush out my mother’s ledger.”
“I wanted the ledger, yes,” Julian admitted smoothly. “But more importantly, Gabriel, I wanted to see if you were ruthless enough to inherit the entire European syndicate. I needed to know if you had the teeth to destroy a family that wronged you.”
Julian gestured to the open train car.
“You passed the test, nephew. Board the train. The empire is yours. Unrivaled power, wealth beyond comprehension. All you have to do is leave this sentimental garbage behind.”
Julian looked directly at me with a sneer.
“Leave the maid. Leave the old housekeeper. Become the king you were meant to be.”
Gabriel stood perfectly still.
He looked at the train. He looked at the vast, dark promise of absolute power.
Then, he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the heavy gold ring bearing the Vescari mafia crest—the ring of the boss.
Gabriel looked Julian dead in the eye, and dropped the ring onto the concrete platform.
It bounced with a heavy, hollow clink and rolled onto the train tracks.
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