Ethan said nothing. He took the items from Hank's hand and slipped them into his pocket. There was no need for many words; the meaning was clear enough. A few seconds later, Ethan left the garage alone.
Once inside the car, he glanced at the note and turned the steering wheel toward the dock warehouse. He'd been there before, back in his early cases, when they'd interrogated a gang member using less-than-conventional methods.
There, he switched to the car that had previously been used to kidnap Trayzelly. Following the direction scrawled on the note, he drove into a run-down neighborhood. Hank had also found Catalano's hideout through another route, pulling on a thread Alessio had given him.
Ethan pulled his baseball cap down, sinking the brim until it nearly covered his eyes. He parked half a block away, the engine still warm, and got out without fully closing the door.
As he reached the house indicated, he saw the curtain on the second floor sway, and the point of light on his radar leave its position at the edge, moving quickly downward.
Ethan stepped out of the car and moved fast toward the back door. The point of light ambushed near the rear entrance began to move again.
—Click!
The lock turned and the door opened.
Catalano stepped out through the back door, looking utterly confident, almost triumphant.
—I remember you —the man spat, tilting his head with a crooked smile—. Last time it was you and that female cop who came to threaten me, right?
He paused, savoring the silence.
—Looks like you're Hank's bitch too.
Ethan stared at him a second too long. Then he slowly shook his head, as if confirming something he already knew.
—You really don't know when to shut your mouth —he said calmly—. And that's usually the problem with guys like you.
Catalano took a step forward. His long face hardened, jaw muscles tight, his expression empty, almost bored. There was no fear there. Only arrogance.
—With your Intelligence Unit protecting me… —he shrugged— who's gonna do anything to me?
His eyes deliberately dropped to the badge at Ethan's waist, studying it like a cheap trinket.
—Tell Hank to clean up my mess. And he'd better do it fast.
Ethan didn't move. Not a blink. He just took a slow breath.
Catalano leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
—Because if they catch me… you can be damn sure Justin's going down with me. And prison won't be as kind as it was last time.
He smiled. A brief, filthy smile.
The air thickened, almost unbreathable. Ethan clenched his jaw. For a second, his fingers curled into a fist, then relaxed at his side, as if holding something dangerous back.
—Is that a threat? —he finally asked, his tone so calm it was unsettling.
Catalano shrugged, indifferent.
—Call it whatever you want. Just pass the message on to Hank.
Ethan stepped half a pace closer, just enough to invade his personal space.
Catalano's long face tightened slightly, though his expression remained one of utter contempt.
—Let me tell you something.
Ethan tapped his badge twice with his knuckles. The metal rang out sharply.
—There are two things no one should ever do in Chicago, —Ethan said, never breaking eye contact.— First: never piss off Hank Voight.
—And the second? —Joe asked, suddenly a little nervous. His voice tried to stay firm, but something cracked inside him. A bad feeling crawled up his spine.
Casually, Ethan unhooked the badge from his belt. He tossed it into the air and caught it with the same hand, as if it were nothing more than an idle gesture.
The metal flashed in the sunlight, rising and falling with a soft, almost hypnotic jingle.
Catalano followed the movement without realizing it. His eyes dropped instinctively, drawn to the glint.
A faint smile curved Ethan's lips.
Without warning, he tossed the badge straight into his hands. Catalano caught it on reflex.
Joe blinked, staring down at the badge between his fingers.
That was the mistake.
—Never take your eyes off me! —Ethan snarled.
Ethan's hand curled into a fist. In a fraction of a second, he took a minimal step back, coiling his torso, loading every muscle… and then all that contained force exploded forward.
Crack.
The punch slammed into Joe's throat. The Adam's apple gave way with a dry sound. His body flew backward and crashed against the wooden wall, pinned between the hard surface and Ethan's forearm crushing his windpipe.
Catalano's eyes flooded with blood, wide open, filled with shock and terror.
He felt the collapse under his hand, the fragility of what he was breaking. He leaned in until his face was inches away, close enough to smell his panicked breath.
—You should've listened the first time —he whispered—. I told you to stay away from the kid. I warned you.
He tightened his grip just a little more. Catalano struggled desperately, but his limbs no longer obeyed.
The light in his eyes slowly went out.
From his radar, Ethan knew there was no one else around. The instant he loosened his fist, Catalano vanished into the air.
Ethan looked around calmly. He picked the badge up off the ground and clipped it back onto his belt, adjusting it against his side. He checked the floor, the walls, even his own hands. Nothing out of place. Nothing that could talk later.
He emptied a gallon of gasoline and moved out fast, avoiding any chance of crossing paths with meddling firefighters. He pulled his cap down, shadowing his face, and disappeared without a trace.
Minutes later, the vehicle stopped on a secluded embankment by the lake. No lights. No cameras. No traffic. Hank had chosen the spot ahead of time—a dead route.
With a simple motion of his palm, Ethan let Joe's body drop onto the damp gravel. No ceremony. Just dead weight meeting the ground.
He stripped the clothes off efficiently, without haste or hesitation, wiped the man's neck clean with chlorine towels to ensure no marks remained, and set them aside. Then he stepped back and delivered a sharp, brutal kick, sending the body tumbling downhill.
Joe rolled until he vanished into the water with a dull splash.
The vehicle started immediately, pulling away without a glance back, while the body floated aimlessly, rocking slowly with the lake's gentle currents.
In the distance, muted waterfowl calls echoed. The retreating sun spread its golden light across the calm surface, tinting the water copper and silence.
At District 21, a gray Dodge stopped at the rear entrance.
Erin moved quickly to the passenger side and opened the door without hesitation.
—Get out —she ordered, her voice firm—. There are a few things we need to clear up before we can help you.
Justin took a few seconds to react. He looked at the dashboard, then the rearview mirror, as if expecting someone to appear and pull him out of there.
—Are you sure about this, Erin? —he finally asked, swallowing hard—
—That's exactly what we're doing —Erin replied, not softening her tone—. Just trust me. Everything's going to work out.
Justin exhaled and stepped out slowly.
They went up the stairs together. Erin walked ahead, setting the pace. Justin followed, uneasy, glancing down both sides of the hallway.
Erin opened the interrogation room door and pointed to the chair with a sharp gesture.
—Sit. I'll be right back.
Justin hesitated for a second before obeying.
Erin returned to the bullpen and walked straight to Antonio's desk.
He was hunched over the screen, absorbed in reports and photographs related to Catalano. The tension was visible in his shoulders; he saw nothing else.
Tap, tap.
Erin lightly knocked on the desk with her knuckles.
Antonio looked up.
—I need you to meet someone —she said—
Antonio closed the file and stood.
—Who? —he asked.
He set the pen down, frowning.
Though he'd spoken with Hank after Ethan's warning, the other side had never explained the full scope of the problem.
That only made him more irritated.
—Didn't you want answers? —Erin said—. I'm going to give them to you.
She planted her hands on the desk.
Antonio stood immediately and followed Erin to the interrogation room.
Ethan's Tahoe SUV pulled up to the station's main entrance. At the same time, Hank's Cadillac braked into a nearby space.
Ethan shut the car door as he got out.
Seeing him, Hank reined in his anxiety and asked right away:
—Is it done?
—Yes.
Ethan twirled the keys, casual.
Hank, however, couldn't relax.
—Erin brought Justin to the station!
—What?
Ethan froze.
—Are you serious?
They both rushed into the bullpen. Hank, holding back his fury, went straight to Erin.
—What are you doing?
—Relax.
Erin raised her hands and nodded toward the office.
—Before you get mad, I want you to talk to Antonio first.
—Talk about what?
Bang!
Hank slammed his hand down on the desk.
—Where is Justin?
The noise startled several people nearby.
Hank's eyes were full of disappointment; he hadn't expected the problem to come precisely from Erin.
—Go talk to him first.
Erin held his gaze.
—Can you do that? Please, just trust me.
Hank walked into his office and slammed the door shut. Out in the bullpen, Ruzek didn't even look up, focused on the case files.
Olinsky chewed on a toothpick while slowly shaking his head at Ethan.
Erin didn't speak either; she pressed her lips together and sat down.
She wouldn't hurt Justin. Hank was simply too worried.
Ethan said nothing as well and went back to his desk. Inside the office, Hank shut the door and stared at Antonio like an enraged lion.
Their gazes collided, as if sparks might fly.
—You're in trouble.
Antonio pointed at Hank and spoke in a low voice.
—Internal Affairs wants your head, —Antonio said bluntly—. Sergeant Gradishar found me before I could find you. She offered me a deal.
Hank didn't react. He remained still, leaning against the desk, watching him with that dangerous calm that only appeared when something truly mattered to him.
—Expose your deal with Alessio Colo, —Antonio continued—. In return… they'd give me Intelligence.
He pulled a manila folder from inside his jacket and set it on the table. He didn't slide it. He dropped it.
—She already knows about your relationship with Alessio. I don't know what history you have with her, but she wants you out of the way.
Hank opened the folder slowly. He narrowed his eyes.
Photographs. Several of them. He and Alessio Colo standing in a dark corner, sitting at a secluded table, talking far too closely for Internal Affairs' liking. Nothing illegal. Nothing incriminating. Just context… maliciously framed.
Hank closed the folder halfway.
—That's it? —he asked—. Photos of me talking to an informant?
Antonio shook his head.
—That's what she thinks will bring you down.
Hank let out a short breath through his nose, almost a humorless laugh.
—Then she doesn't know me.
What Hank didn't expect was what came next.
Antonio stepped forward and held out his hands, palms open. Not in defense. In surrender.
—I didn't take the deal, —he said—. But I didn't lie to her either.
Hank looked up. Now he had his full attention.
— I told her everything —Antonio added—. About Catalano. About Justin. What we did to keep him alive… and what you did to keep him from being killed in prison.
The silence between them grew heavy.
—Do you know why? —Antonio continued, his voice tense but steady—. Because she already knew almost everything. She just needed someone on the inside to confirm it. And she chose the person with the most to lose.
Hank studied him for a long moment.
—And what does she want now? —he finally asked.
Antonio swallowed.
—Time. A mistake on your part. One misstep. She wants me close enough when it happens.
Hank closed the folder completely and set it aside.
—And you? —he asked—. Whose side are you on, Antonio?
Antonio met his gaze.
—Yours, —he replied—. But we don't have any room left to maneuver. Gradishar is coming for your head.
Hank nodded slowly. He didn't look surprised; he knew that woman couldn't be trusted and had been trying to screw him over any way she could.
—Then we're going to give her something, —he said—
Antonio exhaled for the first time since entering the office.
—What do you need from me?
Hank took a step toward him.
—I need you to keep being exactly who she thinks you are.
—You want to protect your family, —Antonio said quietly, controlled—. Believe me, more than anyone, I understand that.
He paused briefly, as if weighing every word before letting it go.
—But there were things you could have told us from the beginning. If you had, this wouldn't be so tangled.
The man didn't answer. Antonio didn't look at him; his eyes stayed fixed on the table, on the photographs spread between them.
—Don't worry, —he continued—. Justin wasn't involved in Fitori's murder.
Antonio turned his head and looked out the window. Outside, the gray afternoon light filtered between the buildings, indifferent to what he had just decided.
—Catalano lost control and killed someone, —he added—. He panicked. At that moment, Justin was there… scared, not knowing what to do. All he did was help move the body.
He crossed his arms.
—And for once, I think your son is telling the truth.
He stood up slowly, pushing the chair back. The sharp scrape against the floor sealed the conversation.
—I'm going to pretend these photos don't exist, —he said without looking at him—. And that I don't know Justin was present at that place.
—I appreciate it.
Hank's voice was extremely hoarse as he extended his hand to Antonio.
If Antonio had investigated the matter thoroughly, he himself would probably be fine, but Justin would have spent several months in jail.
This time, Antonio chose to be on his side—and he also warned him about Internal Affairs' scheme, which was a huge favor.
—Hmm.
Antonio accepted the thanks, shook Hank's hand, and left the sergeant's office.
When he stepped out, everyone looked at him.
Whatever happened, Intelligence was a team, and even if some were closer than others, no one wanted a conflict to explode—it would hurt everyone.
Seeing that both men were fine and that no argument had taken place inside the office, everyone seemed relieved.
Especially Erin, who let out a long sigh of relief.
Not long after, Hank came out of the office, having regained his usual demeanor.
As he passed Erin's desk, Hank stopped.
—He's in the interrogation room.
Erin looked up and spoke softly.
Hank didn't say anything; he rubbed his head and walked toward the interrogation room.
He stopped by Ethan and casually picked up the car keys from the table.
Justin should feel grateful to have a good father. If it had been anyone else, getting out unscathed would have been much harder.
The matter was settled, and Ethan stopped thinking about it.
Erin walked over to his desk.
—Come on, you owe me dinner tonight, —she said, putting on her coat.
—Alright! —Ethan replied.
He looked up and noticed it was already dark. The office was almost empty; only two or three people remained, focused on tired screens. He shut down the monitor, grabbed his keys, and left with her.
The diner was open, as always. A narrow place, blue neon over the entrance and the jingle of a bell when the door opened. The smell of coffee and hot food made them forget, at least for a while, the endless shift they had just finished.
They sat in a booth by the window. Outside, the street was wet, reflecting the car lights.
—I put in for a few days off today, —Ethan said, almost as an offhand remark, flipping through the menu.
She looked up.
—You? Days off?
—Yeah. I'll be out of town for a couple of days, —he clarified—. A friend from Pennsylvania is coming.
She smiled, resting her elbow on the table.
—Lucky you, —she said—. I've been saying for months that I need a vacation. Next time, take me with you, will you?
—Sure, I promise, —Ethan joked.
The waitress set down two steaming plates and refilled their coffee cups. The noise in the diner was low: cutlery, an old radio, other people's conversations.
They ate unhurriedly, talking about small things, avoiding work. When they finished, Ethan left the money on the table and stood up.
Outside, the night air was cold.
—Thanks for dinner, —she said.
—I owed you, —he replied.
They walked together for a few meters before parting ways, each heading in a different direction. Ethan went back to Intelligence.
It wasn't about overtime, but about keeping up with the latest developments in the case, since it was still under Intelligence's jurisdiction—and it wouldn't be long before they found the body in the lake.
Any updates would be reported there first.
Ethan walked over to Antonio and set the takeout bag on his desk.
—You haven't had dinner yet, have you? —Ethan asked.
—Huh?
Antonio reacted late. He fumbled into his pocket and awkwardly pulled out his wallet.
—How much is it? I'll pay.
—Forget it, —Ethan said, placing his hand over Antonio's to stop him—. It's nothing.
Antonio hesitated for a second, but Ethan insisted:
—Don't worry about today. We all know you were just doing your job.
Since leaving Hank's office, Antonio hadn't quite settled. He walked more slowly, spoke less.
He let out a slow breath.
—Thanks, —he murmured.
He understood the gesture. He gave a faint smile as he took the bag of Chinese food Ethan had picked up on the way.
Back at his desk, he had barely opened the lid when hurried footsteps echoed on the stairs. Jin appeared, out of breath.
—Oh, good, you're here! —he said—. They just found a body in the lake. From the description, it might be Joe Catalano, but he didn't have any ID on him.
Antonio snapped his head around. His eyes instinctively flicked toward the sergeant's empty office.
Had he made a mistake trusting Hank again?
—I already informed Hank, —Jin added—. The site is near the pier… in case you want to take a look.
—Understood.
Antonio clenched his teeth and stood up immediately.
Jin slowed his pace, and when Ethan came closer, he whispered:
—About that video this afternoon…
—What video?
Ethan looked confused.
—Just deleting it isn't enough.
Jin shook his head and smiled.
—Don't worry. I already wiped the underlying data.
Ethan smiled wryly and bumped fists with Jin.
The Intelligence Unit convoy stopped by the lakeshore. Blue lights flashed, and several police cars were parked nearby.
Hank's Cadillac was not far away.
Several doors slammed shut, and everyone moved toward the scene, where a crowd had already gathered.
Ethan adjusted his jacket and walked down to the embankment.
Several marine police boats were moored, gently rocking with the waves.
There was nothing unusual, so he pushed through the crowd.
Catalano's eyes were wide open, his skin pale.
Antonio, at his side, cast occasional, suspicious glances toward Hank.
Another hard brake screeched. Shortly after, a middle-aged white woman in a black coat pushed her way through the crowd.
—Is that Catalano?
—Sergeant Gladishar!
Hank crossed his arms and looked at her with disdain.
—Looks like Joe finally ran out of luck.
Ethan immediately understood that the woman had to be Internal Affairs—the one trying to extort Hank and use him as an informant. Ignoring everyone, she went straight to the body.
—What did you find? Anything useful?
Gladishar looked at the forensic examiner crouched beside the body.
She leaned over the corpse and, using the tip of a pen, carefully parted the dead man's lips. She checked the nasal cavity, then the mouth, without directly touching the skin.
—From what I can see right now, the victim was already dead before entering the water. There's no water in the lungs or airways.
She straightened slightly.
—That means he didn't drown. The body wasn't dumped here… probably from a nearby point.
She jotted something down in her notebook and crouched again. After estimating the time of death, she ran the pen along the bruised neck.
—Death occurred several hours before he arrived at this location.
Hearing the time frame, Antonio discreetly let out a breath. Hank had still been at the precinct at that hour.
This hadn't been his doing.
—And here's the cause, —the forensic examiner added.
Wearing disposable gloves, she carefully pressed on Catalano's neck. The tissue gave way unnaturally.
—The method was extremely violent. The trachea is collapsed, and the Adam's apple took a direct blow.
She made a precise gesture, pointing to the spot.
—A blunt-force impact, likely from a heavy object. Something like an iron hammer or a solid bar. More than half of the neck structures are destroyed.
—Ugh… —murmured voices sounded around them.