Chapter 4 - The Lawyer’s Confession
The basement beneath the old Vitelli meatpacking foundry on the South Side of Chicago smelled of rust, damp concrete, and fear.
A single incandescent light bulb hung from a frayed yellow cord, swaying gently in the cold draft, casting long, dancing shadows across the concrete floor.
Bound tightly to a heavy steel chair in the center of the room was Daniel Mercer.
He was a forty-five-year-old corporate attorney whose expensive three-piece suit was now torn at the collar, covered in sweat and grease. His nose was bloody, his glasses were cracked, and he was weeping hysterically, his knees knocking together in terror.
I stood three feet away, holding a silver pocket watch that had belonged to my father.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Antonio stood in the shadows near the brick wall, wiping grease off a set of heavy steel pliers.
“I didn't know!” Mercer screamed, his voice echoing off the damp brick walls. “I swear to Almighty God, Mr. Vitelli, I didn't know she was your wife! Matteo brought her to me six years ago! He said she was a mistress who knew too much about his offshore accounts! He paid me fifty thousand dollars a year to keep her locked in that farmhouse in Indiana!”
I closed the pocket watch with a sharp snap.
“Where is she, Mercer?” I asked, my tone entirely flat, devoid of any human emotion.
“She’s... she’s not in Indiana anymore!” Mercer sobbed, wiping blood from his lip onto his shoulder. “Eighteen months ago, when she managed to sneak the kid out to the orphanage, Matteo freaked out! He realized if you ever found the girl, the thread would lead straight back to him!”
“So what did he do with Alina?” I stepped closer, my heavy leather shoes clicking against the cold floor.
“He... he sold her!” Mercer blurted out.
My heart stopped beating.
The air in the basement turned to solid ice.
“He sold my wife?” I whispered.
“Not like that! Not sex trafficking!” Mercer yelled desperately, shaking his head frantically. “He traded her to the Moretti family in New York! Don Carmine Moretti wanted leverage against you for the Midwest shipping lines! Matteo traded Alina to Carmine in exchange for two hundred million dollars in offshore bonds and the Moretti family’s backing to take over your throne in Chicago!”
I stared at the sniveling attorney.
It all clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
Matteo wasn't just a traitor inside my house. He was the architect of an international syndicate alliance designed to wipe the Vitelli family off the map. He had kept my wife alive as a bargaining chip with New York, kept my daughter hidden in an orphanage to prevent me from investigating, and waited for the right moment to put a bullet in my back and take my crown.
“Where is Carmine Moretti holding her?” I demanded.
“A private estate!” Mercer rasped, his eyes wide with panic. “In Geneva, Illinois! Right near the river! It’s a fortified compound owned by a shell company named Apex Logistics! Carmine’s son, Dominic Moretti, is staying there right now with thirty enforcers! They’re keeping her in the basement medical suite!”
I looked at Antonio.
Antonio nodded slowly, his eyes burning with cold, lethal intent. He understood without a word being spoken.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed my chief communications officer at the Lake Forest estate.
“Boss?” the voice answered on the second ring.
“How is Sophia?” I asked.
“She’s sleeping soundly, Don Marco. She had some warm milk, drawn a picture of a house, and went right to sleep. She left the drawing on your desk.”
A soft, fierce warmth flickered in my chest before turning back into pure steel.
“Good,” I said. “Mobilize the vanguard. Every soldier, every captain, every heavy weapon we have in Cook County. I want one hundred armed men at the South Side foundry in forty-five minutes.”
“Understood, Boss. Are we going to war?”
May you like
I looked at Daniel Mercer weeping in his chair, then looked toward the north side of the city where Matteo Rizzo was currently locked in my sub-basement holding cell.
“No,” I replied quietly. “We’re going to an execution.”
