Chapter 1 - The Little Girl In The Rain Knew Where My Missing Son Had Gone
A homeless seven-year-old girl found me crying alone in the freezing Chicago rain and offered me the last piece of bread she had. “Mister, are you crying because you're hungry too?” She had no idea men across the city feared my name, or that I'd trade every dollar, every business, and every ounce of power I possessed for the one thing I couldn't buy back: my son.
Cold November rain hammered the streets that afternoon.
My name is Sebastian Ross, and at forty-three, I ran one of Chicago's most powerful Mafia organizations. Restaurants, warehouses, construction companies, and men who never asked unnecessary questions operated under my influence.
People thought I had everything.
But beneath that flickering streetlamp, I wasn't a Mafia boss.
I was a broken father.
Exactly one year earlier, my ex-wife disappeared with our son, Lucas. She took him without warning and never gave me the chance to say goodbye.
Three hundred sixty-five days followed.
Unanswered calls. Canceled video chats. Lawyers, investigators, favors called in across the city.
Nothing brought my boy home.
That afternoon marked exactly one year since I'd held Lucas. Something inside me finally collapsed, so I walked away from my driver, ignored the phone vibrating in my pocket, and stood alone in the rain.
Then I heard a tiny voice.
“Mister?”
A girl stood several feet away, maybe seven years old. Her oversized sweater hung from thin shoulders, her uneven braids were soaked, and dirt streaked her face.
“Are you crying because you're hungry too?”
I couldn't answer.
She reached into her sweater and removed a crumpled napkin. Inside was half a small bread roll.
“You can have this.”
I stared at her.
“What about you?”
“I already ate some.”
Her stomach growled loudly.
She lowered her eyes, embarrassed.
“You're hungry.”
“I'm okay.”
“No, sweetheart. You're not.”
She pushed the bread toward me again. “I know how it feels when your stomach hurts because you haven't eaten.”
I'd sat across from dangerous men without blinking. I'd made decisions that changed lives with a single sentence.
But I couldn't take that bread.
This child had almost nothing, yet she was offering me half of everything she owned.
I crouched.
“What's your name?”
“Emily.”
“Where are your parents?”
Her expression changed. “My mommy's gone.”
“And your dad?”
“I don't know.”
Those words struck somewhere painfully familiar.
I removed my coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Come with me. We'll get you something warm to eat.”
She immediately backed away.
“No.”
I froze.
“I can't leave.”
“Why?”
Tears filled her eyes. “Because I'm waiting for someone.”
“Who?”
Emily hesitated, then reached beneath her sweater and pulled out a small plastic bag tied with string.
Inside was a photograph.
My hands began trembling.
Emily stood beside another child in the picture.
A boy.
He was older than when I'd last seen him and painfully thinner, but no amount of time could make me forget those eyes.
Lucas.
My son.
I looked at Emily so quickly she flinched.
“Where did you get this?”
“He gave it to me.”
The sounds of Chicago seemed to disappear.
“When?”
Emily glanced past me toward the crowded, rain-soaked street.
Then she grabbed my sleeve.
Her lips trembled.
“Yesterday.”
I stopped breathing.
Before I could ask another question, Emily's face suddenly changed. She stared over my shoulder, terrified, and whispered, “Mister... that's the man Lucas told me to hide from.”
I turned.
A man stood on the opposite side of the street beneath a black umbrella.
Long dark coat.
Gray scarf.
No expression.
He wasn't looking at me.
He was looking at Emily.
I knew danger when I saw it.
I'd spent twenty-five years learning how to recognize it before it spoke.
I stepped between him and the little girl.
“Emily.”
She grabbed my hand.
“Don't let him see me.”
My instincts took over.
I scooped her into my arms and crossed toward the nearest building.
My driver, Marcus, spotted me and ran from the idling SUV.
“Boss?”
“Get us out of here.”
He looked at Emily.
“Who is the kid?”
“Questions later.”
The man under the umbrella started moving.
Marcus opened the rear door.
Emily climbed inside.
I followed.
The second the door slammed, my phone began ringing.
One of my lieutenants.
I answered.
“Talk.”
“Sebastian, we have a problem.”
“What kind?”
“Two of our storage facilities were hit in the last hour.”
“Robbery?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“They took employee files.”
My stomach tightened.
“Which files?”
“Former drivers. Security. Anyone who worked for you during the year Lucas disappeared.”
I looked at Emily.
She was staring at the floor.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Lose the tail.”
He looked through the rear window.
The black umbrella was gone.
But my instincts told me we hadn't lost anyone.
We drove to one of my private apartments.
Emily refused to go inside until I promised there were no strangers waiting.
I kept my promise.
I had the place searched twice.
Then I sat at the kitchen table while she ate soup, bread, grilled chicken, and an entire bowl of fruit.
She ate slowly at first.
Then faster.
“Easy,” I said. “There's enough.”
She looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“You don't apologize for being hungry.”
She looked up.
“Lucas said that too.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“What else did Lucas say?”
She took a sip of water.
“He said nice people sometimes get scared, so you have to give them time.”
“He said that?”
She nodded.
“When did you meet him?”
“A few months ago.”
“Where?”
“Under the bridge.”
“Which one?”
“The one with the trains.”
There were several.
“Do you know the street?”
She shook her head.
“Can you show me?”
“Maybe.”
“Did Lucas live there?”
“No.”
“Where did he live?”
Emily looked toward the door.
“He said he wasn't supposed to tell.”
“Did someone hurt him?”
She hesitated.
“Sometimes.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
“A lady.”
“What lady?”
“The one who took him away.”
I knew immediately.
His mother.
Rachel.
My ex-wife.
I had spent a year believing she had vanished because she wanted to escape me.
Now I wondered whether she had vanished because she was afraid.
“Emily, what was Lucas doing with you?”
“He gave me food.”
“What else?”
“He told me his daddy would come.”
I stared at her.
“He knew I'd come?”
“He hoped.”
The answer broke something inside me.
“Why did he give you his photograph?”
“He said if a man named Sebastian ever found me, I should show him.”
My hands shook.
“He said your name?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
“Yes.”
“What else did he say?”
Emily reached into her plastic bag again.
This time she pulled out a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
Three words were written in a child's handwriting.
DAD, TRUST EMILY.
I looked at my son’s handwriting for the first time in a year.
The edges of the letters were uneven.
But they were his.
I pressed the paper against my chest.
Marcus entered the room.
“Boss.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“We found something.”
He placed a tablet on the table.
Security footage.
From the same street where I'd found Emily.
The black umbrella appeared.
Then another vehicle.
A white delivery van.
It stopped.
A man got out.
He walked toward Emily.
Then the video stopped.
“Who is he?”
“We're running identification.”
I stared at the screen.
“Do it fast.”
Emily whispered:
“He's not the man who took Lucas.”
I looked at her.
“Who is he?”
“The man who takes messages.”
“What messages?”
“He tells people when the bad man is coming.”
I leaned closer.
“Who's the bad man?”
Emily stared directly at me.
“He's your friend.”
My blood ran cold.
“Which friend?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know his name.”
Then the phone rang.
I answered.
My security chief spoke.
“We found the van.”
“Where?”
“Outside St. Gabriel's Children's Shelter.”
I looked at Emily.
May you like
Her face drained of color.
“That’s where Lucas was.”
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