Chapter 7 - The Subterranean Chase
Down in the sub-basement, Dr. Everett Voss wasn't waiting to be rescued by the hospital board.
While Marcus had been holding the office door, Voss had managed to trigger a silent panic button beneath his desk, alerting the private security detail paid for by Vincent Gallo’s syndicate.
Two armed men disguised as hospital maintenance workers had ambushed Marcus in the hallway, allowing Voss to grab his briefcase containing his offshore account keys and sprint toward the underground parking garage.
The concrete garage was dim, echoing with the sound of dripping water and the hum of exhaust fans. Rows of luxury sedans and delivery vans lined the pillars.
Voss’s breath came in ragged gasps as he fumbled with his car keys, sprinting toward his silver Audi parked near the exit ramp.
“Leaving so soon, Doctor?” a cold voice echoed from the shadows near the exit gate.
Voss froze, dropping his keys onto the concrete with a sharp metallic clatter.
Stepping out from behind a concrete pillar was Marcus, his face bruised slightly from the scuffle upstairs, holding a heavy-caliber pistol pointed straight at Voss’s chest. Behind Marcus, three more Kade enforcers blocked the exit ramp with a black SUV, their headlights blindingly bright in the dim garage.
“Marcus... please,” Voss whimpered, backing away until his back hit the side of his Audi. “I was forced! Gallo made me do it!”
“The boss wants a word with you,” Marcus said, stepping closer with slow, deliberate strides. “And trust me, Doctor... he’s not interested in your medical opinion anymore.”
Before Marcus could grab him, the screech of tires echoed down the garage ramp.
A black Cadillac Escalade tore down into the sub-basement at full speed, its headlights flashing high beams. The vehicle slammed to a halt inches from Marcus, and the side door slid open.
Inside sat Vincent Gallo himself—a silver-haired, impeccably dressed mob boss with cold blue eyes and a scar running down his jawline.
“Get in the car, Voss!” Gallo shouted over the engine roar, leveling a submachine gun out the window.
Voss dove forward, scrambling across the concrete toward the open door of the Cadillac.
Marcus raised his weapon and opened fire, shattering the Cadillac’s rear window and punching bullet holes through the passenger door, but Gallo’s driver slammed on the gas, tearing around the corner toward the street-level security gate.
“Marcus! Do we pursue?” an enforcer shouted, rushing up with an assault rifle.
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Marcus lowered his pistol, watching the tail lights of the Cadillac disappear up the ramp into the Chicago night. A grim, confident smile spread across his scarred face.
“Let them run,” Marcus said, tapping his earpiece. “The boss already put a tracker on Voss’s briefcase when he threw him against the bookshelf upstairs. They’re running straight into a cage.”
