Page 12 of Operation Wolf: Eli
CHAPTER 6
Olivia
I WAS EXHAUSTED BUTsatisfied when I got off the plane from Paris. I’d spent the past month studying there as a graduate student participating in the Chicago-Paris Exchange program—visiting the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay; painting iconic scenes, such as the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower; and doing touristy things, like strolling down the Champs-Élysées and visiting Disneyland Paris.
Being a graduate art student certainly has its perks. And it sure as hell beats my former life as a burned-out marketing executive.
I grabbed my luggage from baggage claim and headed through customs and out of the terminal to catch a cab. A small part of me wished Dad were here to pick me up instead of living it up in his Mexican villa, but I knew such ideas were wishful thinking. For all intents and purposes, he was enjoying himself, but I knew he was really hiding out there, and I’d refused to put my pursuit of a master of fine arts degree on hold for him, even though he’d begged me to come live with him.
It was annoying and frustrating that he refused to accept I was thirty-two years old and wasn’t his little girl anymore. But I also knew he was worried about me, especially after I’d resigned from my six-figure marketing job with a cushy corner office. Dad thought I was going through some “emotional crisis”—after Mom’s passing away from cancer had shattered my world—but I called it an “emotional awakening.”
Mom’s death had forced me to evaluate what was really important to me, and it damn sure wasn’t spending the rest of my life miserable, with my -think-about-work mental switch permanently on, constantly considering the next email to send, or on my laptop or phone, tackling my massive to-do list. I’d desperately needed to change my mind-set, and I longed to truly enjoy my life. So, I’d untethered from the corporate world, went back to school to pursue a master’s degree in fine arts, travel, and planned to eventually settle into the career I’d always dreamed of as an artist. Luckily, I was financially able to do all those things with the money I’d saved while working corporate, along with the life insurance settlement mom left me.
It didn’t take me long to grab a cab, and soon, I was whizzing through the streets of Chicago. The nightlife was in full swing now, and I knew if I rolled down my window, I would hear jazz music and laughter and smell the faint whiff of cigarette smoke and, sometimes, something stronger in the air. As much as crime continued to ride this city, I still loved Chicago, and I wouldn’t leave it for anything.
“Can I help you with your bags, miss?” the cab driver asked as he pulled up to my apartment complex.
“No, thank you,” I said with a polite smile as I paid him and stepped out of the cab. It wasn’t that I couldn’t use the assistance, it was more that I didn’t want a stranger knowing where I lived. It didn’t pay to act like a fool when one lived in the most violent city in America. I hefted my luggage and headed inside. Once there, I stepped into the elevator, riding it up to the third floor.
The door slid open, and I dragged out my luggage. I sighed in relief when I reached my apartment. Fishing my keys out of my coat pocket, I opened the door and closed and locked it behind me.
My immediate plan of action is to dump my bags right inside the door and go soak in a hot bath before bed. I’ll handle everything else tomorrow, but right now, I desperately want to decompress after the long flight.
Flipping on the light, I intended to do just that, but I screamed as I caught sight of a figure sitting on my couch. “Oh my fucking God!” I rushed behind the kitchen counter and snatched a large blade from the knife block, brandishing it at the intruder. “Who the hell are you?”
“Whoa, whoa!”
The figure stood up, and I saw it was a rail-thin man dressed in a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a denim jacket. His pale blond hair was slicked back, and I could tell from the slight bulge in his jacket that he was carrying, though I supposed I had to give him points for not drawing it on me.
“Hang on there, miss. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Who sent you here?” I asked, my voice steady despite my shaking hand. “I can tell you’re a gangster, so who? The Gaylords? The Royals? The Kings? Spit it out!” I was fairly familiar with the gangs all jockeying for position in Chicago, and it wasn’t the first time any one of them had targeted a family member of the Italian mob.
“The Outfit.”
I was so surprised I nearly dropped my knife. “The Outfit?” I repeated faintly. “What does the Outfit want with me?” A chill ran through my bones as a horrible possibility occurred to me. “Did something happen to my father?”
“You could say that,” the man said carefully.
“What? What’s happened? Is he dead?”
The man shook his head. “Your father’s alive and well, Miss Giordano. But his recent actions have made the Outfit a little angry, and they’re retaliating. My friend and I have orders to kidnap you and hold you for ransom until your father pays up the money he owes.”
“So, you are here to hurt me.” I raised the knife again, my knuckles whitening as I tightened my grip. The metal studs on the wooden handle dug into my palm, but I didn’t care. “Don’t come any closer,” I warned. “My father taught me knife throwing when I was seven years old.” Actually, I’d taught myself, but Dad had been in one of his rare good moods when he found out. He’d actually rewarded me by taking me out for ice cream instead of grounding me, as he’d usually done whenever I did something unladylike.
The man nodded slowly. “Your father’s a good man, Miss Giordano. One of my friends in the Outfit thinks so especially, and he doesn’t want to see you get hurt. We’ve arranged safe transport to get you out of here, and I was sent to make sure we got to you first before someone else from the Outfit did, someone who wasn’t quite as loyal to your father.”
My eyes narrowed. “How the hell am I supposed to believe that crock of shit? Why shouldn’t I just assume that you’re here to kidnap me as you were ordered?”
He shrugged. “You could do that, I guess,” he said. “But I’m here to help you, not kidnap you, and if you kill me, the Outfit will just send someone else after you. You don’t really lose anything by coming with me. If I’m telling the truth, you go to safety. And if I’m lying, you go to the mob, where you’ll end up anyway if you do put that knife in my throat.”
I sighed and placed the knife back in the block. “Okay, fine.” I wasn’t sure if I trusted this man, but I knew he was right. “What do I do now?”
I started to grab a suitcase, but he shook his head.
“Better not,” he said, moving past me and to the door. “If anyone’s watching and they see you carrying a suitcase, they’ll get suspicious. Now, come on,” he said, holding the door open. “We’re going for a ride.”
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