Chapter 3 - The Black Sedan
The rain had turned into a thick, slushy downpour by the time Arthur led me out of the decaying house.
The narrow alley, usually dark and empty except for overflowing trash cans and stray cats, was filled with glaring white light. Three massive black SUVs were idling in a tight formation, their exhaust pipes sending thick plumes of steam rising into the freezing air. Six men in long black raincoats stood in a circle around the vehicles, their hands tucked inside their coats, their eyes scanning the dark alleys and rooftop fire escapes with rigid, rhythmic discipline.
The moment Arthur stepped through the doorway, the man closest to the lead car—a massive man with a thick, jagged scar running from his ear down to his collar—stepped forward and opened the rear door of the center vehicle.
“Boss,” the scarred man said, his voice like grinding stones. He glanced down at me, then at the small bundle wrapped inside Arthur’s coat, but his expression didn't change by a fraction. “Dr. Vance is waiting at the estate. He’s set up the trauma suite.”
“Good,” Arthur said. He stepped up to the open door and looked down at me. “Get in, Ivy.”
The inside of the vehicle smelled of clean leather, warm air, and polished wood. Heat was blasting from vents embedded in the doors, immediately wrapping around my wet, bare legs like a heavy wool blanket.
I scrambled into the deep leather seat, sliding all the way to the far side so I could pull my wet knees against my chest.
Arthur slid in beside me. The door clicked shut with a heavy, airtight thud that instantly cut off the sound of the rain and the idling engines outside.
The car moved before I even realized the engine was engaged. Smoothly, effortlessly, the three black vehicles glided out of the narrow alley and merged onto the cracked, empty pavement of 14th Street.
Arthur leaned forward and placed the small bundle containing Leo and Toby into my lap. He kept his arm stretched behind my back, holding us steady as the car accelerated down the avenue.
“Look at me, Ivy,” he said.
I turned my head. In the soft amber light of the dashboard, his face looked harder, his sharp nose casting a long shadow across his cheekbone.
“You’re going to see a doctor in a few minutes,” he said. “His name is Dr. Vance. He’s going to take your brothers and put them in a warm bed with tubes to help them drink. They might cry. They might scream. You are not to fight him. Do you understand?”
“Are you taking them away from me?” I asked, my fingers tightening on the wet blanket around Toby’s back.
“No,” Arthur said flatly. “You stay with them. But you let the doctor do his job.”
He reached into a small leather compartment between the seats and pulled out a clean, folded white hand towel. Without asking, he reached over and began gently wiping the wet mud from my forearms and face. His strokes were firm, rhythmic, and shockingly gentle for hands that looked large enough to crush a stone.
“Where is my mom going?” I whispered, wincing slightly as he wiped a scratch on my chin.
Arthur didn't stop wiping. “To a clean place. A quiet place.”
“Is she coming to the big house with us?”
Arthur paused. The towel hovered over my wrist for half a second before he set it back on the leather console.
“No, Ivy,” he said, looking straight ahead through the tinted windshield. “She’s not coming back.”
“Why?” My voice cracked, a huge, painful lump forming in my throat that made it hard to breathe. “Because I couldn't get the milk fast enough? Because I lost the coins in the rain?”
Arthur turned his head sharply to look at me. His pale gray eyes burned with a dark, sudden intensity that made me shrink back into the leather cushion.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice dropping an octave. “Don't ever say that again.”
I blinked, a tear slipping down my dirty cheek.
“Your mother didn't die because of two cans of formula,” Arthur said, his words measured and heavy. “She died because someone put poison in her blood.”
I stared at him, my mouth opening slightly. “Poison?”
“The bruises on her arm,” Arthur continued, his eyes cold as ice. “The mark on her elbow. Someone came into your house while you were out looking for food, kid. Someone who wanted her quiet.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine, far colder than the rain outside.
“Who?” I whispered.
Arthur didn't answer. He looked out the side window as the black sedan turned off the cracked, dark streets of the West Side and entered a broad, paved boulevard lined with massive stone walls, grand wrought-iron gates, and towering oak trees covered in snow.
“Someone who thinks they can operate in my city without asking my permission,” Arthur said, his knuckles turning white as his right hand tightened around his knee. “And when I find out who it was, Ivy... you won't ever have to worry about them again.”
The car slowed down, swinging through a massive pair of black iron gates that opened automatically as we approached. Ahead, framed by soft yellow floodlights, stood a massive four-story stone manor surrounded by immaculate gardens and high security fences.
Three men in dark suits stepped out onto the wide stone porch as the sedan pulled up to the main entrance.
Before the car had even come to a complete stop, the rear door was yanked open.
A white-haired man in a crisp doctor’s coat, flanked by two nurses carrying compact metallic medical cases, stepped forward.
“Arthur!” the doctor said, his eyes scanning the interior of the car. “Where are they?”
“Here,” Arthur said, lifting the bundle from my lap with one arm while reaching down to grab my small hand with his other.
“Let's go,” Dr. Vance said, stepping back to clear the doorway. “The pediatric suite is prepped.”
Arthur stepped out into the cold night air, dragging me smoothly behind him. He didn't wait for the umbrella held by one of his guards. He carried me and my brothers up the wide stone steps, through two massive oak doors, and into the grand entrance hall of the Pendelton estate.
Marble floors stretched out in every direction. A massive crystal chandelier hung from a three-story ceiling, casting bright, warm light across oil paintings, gold-framed mirrors, and polished mahogany staircases.
I had never seen a house like this. I had never seen floors that didn't creak, or ceilings that didn't leak, or air that smelled like fresh roses and burning oak wood.
Arthur didn't stop to let me look. He marched down a long, carpeted hallway toward a heavy set of double doors at the far end.
The moment he pushed them open, the world transformed again.
The room behind the double doors didn't look like part of a house. It looked like a hospital room—sterile, bright, lined with glass cabinets filled with medicine bottles, shining stainless-steel trays, and two clear plastic incubators glowing under soft blue lights.
“On the table, Arthur,” Dr. Vance ordered, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.
Arthur set the bundle down on a warmed padded examination table.
The two nurses immediately moved in, their hands working with lightning speed. The thin, wet woolen blanket was cut away with sharp surgical scissors. Warm, dry towels were wrapped around Toby and Leo’s pale, shivering bodies. Tiny heart monitors were stuck to their chests, instantly filling the room with rapid, high-pitched double beeps.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
“Heart rates are elevated, oxygen saturation is seventy-eight percent,” one nurse called out, fitting a tiny clear plastic mask over Leo’s nose. “Starting supplemental oxygen now.”
“Get the pediatric IV lines ready,” Dr. Vance said, leaning over Toby with a small light. “Five percent dextrose solution. Slow drip. They're severely hypothermic and blood sugar is bottoming out.”
I tried to step forward, my dirty toes sinking into the soft white floor mat. “Toby! Leo!”
A nurse gently set her hand against my chest, blocking my path. “Stay back, sweetie. Let the doctor work.”
“No!” I yelled, struggling against her grip. “I have to stay with them! I promised!”
“Let her through,” Arthur’s voice boomed from behind us.
The nurse immediately dropped her hand and stepped back.
I ran to the edge of the metal table and grabbed the side of the padded tray. I reached out my left hand and touched Leo’s foot. It felt warmer already under the blue heat lamps, his tiny toes curling slightly against my palm.
Dr. Vance worked for twenty minutes without speaking a word.
He inserted two tiny needles into their ankles, securing them with clear surgical tape. He attached thin plastic tubes that ran up to bags of clear liquid hanging from metal poles. He checked their eyes, listened to their lungs with a cold silver stethoscope, and finally wrapped them in soft, thick yellow fleece blankets before placing them gently inside the clear plastic incubators.
The rapid beeping slowed down, turning into a steady, rhythmic cadence.
Beep... beep... beep.
Dr. Vance pulled off his rubber gloves with a loud snap and tossed them into a silver bin. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and turned to Arthur, who had been standing motionlessly against the wall near the door the entire time.
“They're going to make it,” Vance said, taking a deep breath. “Another two hours in that freezing room without fuel, and their organs would have started shutting down. But they're strong, Arthur. Their lungs are clear, and the IV fluids are already stabilizing their glucose levels.”
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Arthur walked over to the incubator, looking down through the clear plastic at Leo, who was now sleeping soundly, his mouth wrapped around a tiny rubber pacifier.
“How long do they need to stay in these?” Arthur asked.
“Three days, minimum,” Vance replied. “They need round-the-clock monitoring, specialized nutrition, and antibiotic courses to prevent pneumonia from the cold exposure. I’ll keep two nurses on shift twenty-four hours a day.”
Arthur nodded slowly. He turned his head and looked down at me.
I was still standing by the table, my mud-caked legs shaking with exhaustion, my dirty hands clutching the edge of the metal tray. My hair was dried into stiff, tangled spikes, and my small frame was shivering violently now that the adrenaline was fading from my blood.
“Dr. Vance,” Arthur said quietly.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Clean her up. Check her for injuries, give her whatever shots she needs, and get her some clothes.”
“Right away,” Vance said.
Arthur turned and walked toward the double doors.
“Where are you going?” I called out, my voice small in the sterile room.
Arthur stopped with his hand on the brass door handle. He didn't turn around, but I could see the hard profile of his face reflected in the shiny glass of the medicine cabinet.
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“I have a meeting to attend, Ivy,” he said quietly. “Some people in Chicago need to be reminded who owns this city.”
He pushed the door open and walked out, leaving the heavy brass latch to click shut behind him.
