Chapter 4 - The True King of the Underworld and the Wrench
One of the bright overhead fluorescent lights suddenly exploded into a shower of sparks,
plunging the immediate surrounding area into complete and disorienting darkness.
The two hired thugs instinctively raised their dangerous weapons,
frantically scanning the deep concrete shadows for the sudden source of the distracting noise.
From the pitch black darkness,
a tall figure emerged silently,
moving with a lethal,
predatory,
and terrifying grace that completely defied normal human speed.
It was Ethan,
but he was no longer hunched over in a submissive posture,
and he was certainly no longer holding a standard cleaning mop.
In his strong right hand,
he tightly held a massive and heavy steel mechanic's wrench,
gleaming faintly and dangerously in the remaining dim light of the garage.
Without uttering a single warning word,
he swung the heavy weapon with brutal force,
striking the first armed man violently in the right wrist,
sending the deadly pistol clattering loudly across the hard concrete floor.
The second panicked man turned sharply,
aiming his loaded gun directly at Ethan,
but his clumsy reaction was entirely too slow for the mafia boss.
Ethan expertly grabbed the man's extended arm,
twisting it forcefully with a sickening and loud crunch of breaking bone,
and forced the screaming man violently down to his knees,
all executed flawlessly in one single fluid motion.
"Tell Richard Hale,"
Ethan growled fiercely,
his deep voice vibrating with dark,
unstoppable,
and terrifying authority,
"that the young accounting girl is now entirely under my personal protection."
The injured thug gasped loudly in agonizing pain,
looking up slowly at Ethan's shadowed face,
his cruel eyes widening instantly in absolute and profound terror.
"Mister Moretti,"
the bleeding thug choked out weakly,
finally recognizing the dangerous man who currently held his fragile life in his bare hands.
"I honestly did not know it was your territory,
I swear to God."
"Now you clearly do,"
Ethan replied coldly and without an ounce of mercy,
kicking the broken man aside easily like a worthless piece of street trash.
The two battered men scrambled desperately to their unsteady feet,
clutching their severe and painful injuries,
and sprinted back cowardly to their running black SUV,
speeding recklessly out of the dark garage in a frantic and blind panic.
I stood completely frozen like a statue,
my shaking back pressed firmly against a cold concrete structural pillar,
entirely unable to process the brutal violence I had just witnessed.
Ethan turned slowly to face me,
dropping the heavy steel wrench to the floor with a loud clang,
his previously terrifying expression softening slightly as he looked at my pale face.
"Are you hurt anywhere,
Claire?"
he asked gently,
stepping significantly closer to inspect me for any injuries.
I shook my head slowly,
completely unable to find my lost voice,
staring openly at the disguised man who had just saved my life.
"You are Ethan Moretti,"
I finally whispered breathlessly,
suddenly remembering the infamous name from countless late-night investigative news broadcasts.
He was the absolute head of the massive Chicago criminal syndicate,
a dangerous ghost who controlled the entire corrupt city from the hidden shadows,
a modern myth that the frustrated police could never actually catch.
"I generally prefer just Ethan,"
he said calmly,
offering me his large and calloused hand.
"Please come with me right now,
it is definitely not safe for you to go home alone tonight."
I hesitated for a tiny fraction of a fearful second,
but looking back at the dark,
empty,
May you like
and terrifying exit of the parking garage,
I knew deep down I had absolutely no other logical choice.
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