CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 2: The Black Card
When I woke again, I heard voices outside the curtain.
“She has defensive bruising.”
“Her wrists too.”
“Where’s the husband?”
“We called the number on file. It went to voicemail.”
That almost made me laugh.
Arthur always answered when cameras were present.
Sarah stood beside my bed, checking my IV with the careful expression of someone trying not to show fear.
“My phone,” I whispered.
“It’s broken,” she said gently. “We’re trying to reach someone for you.”
“No,” I said, panic tearing through me. “Not Arthur.”
Sarah went still.
I grabbed her wrist with the little strength I had left. “Please. Not him first.”
She looked at the curtain.
Then back at me.
In her eyes, I saw the terrible moment when a stranger understands more than a family member ever did.
She nodded once.
An administrative nurse searched my purse for another contact. My wallet fell open. My driver’s license. Insurance card. A charity gala invitation. Lipstick. A cracked compact mirror.
Then Sarah found the black card in the zippered pocket.
No logo.
No address.
Only one name printed in silver.
Dante.
On the back, written in my own handwriting, were seven words:
If I disappear, call him first.
Sarah stared at it.
Every person in Chicago had heard rumors about Dante Corvino.
They said he owned the docks without owning them. They said judges lowered their voices when his name came up. They said Arthur Sullivan had built half his campaign promising to destroy men like him.
But Sarah did not ask why I had his card.
She dialed.
The line rang once.
“Speak.”
The voice was low, controlled, almost bored.
Sarah swallowed. “This is St. Jude’s Medical Center. Nora Sullivan is here. She’s critical.”
Silence.
Then the voice changed.
Not louder.
Worse.
“I’ll be there in eight minutes.”
The call ended.
Sarah lowered the phone.
May you like
Outside the hospital windows, thunder rolled over Chicago.
Seven minutes later, three black SUVs pulled into the ambulance bay.
