Chapter 4 - The Questions in the Alley
The alley fell silent again, save for the rhythmic drumming of heavy rain against pavement and the low rumble of distant Chicago traffic.
Andrew waited until the footsteps of the two pursuers completely faded into the city night. Only then did he break his statuesque posture. Slowly, gracefully, the tall crime boss dropped to one knee in the wet puddle, bringing himself down to eye level with the drenched eight-year-old boy.
The rain beat down upon both of them, soaking Andrew’s expensive coat, but he paid no attention to the weather. He looked closely at Ethan’s small face—the pale skin, the dark brown hair plastered over his forehead, the dark eyes wide with residual terror.
"Why were they chasing you?" Andrew asked, his voice low, calm, and surprisingly gentle for a man of his reputation.
Ethan lowered his head, staring down at his untied shoelace soaking in the muddy water.
"They were taking me back," the boy whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of falling water.
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Andrew leaned in slightly, shielding the child from the harsh wind with his broad shoulders. "Back where, kid? Who sent them?"
Ethan didn't answer. He bit his trembling lower lip, tears mixing with the rainwater dripping down his cheeks. Instead of speaking, the boy reached out with a tiny, shiver-racked hand and tightened his grip around the heavy black sleeve of Andrew’s coat, clinging to him as if Andrew were the only anchor left in a dangerous world.
