Chapter 5 - The Lake Forest Fortress
By 4:00 AM, the estate in Lake Forest looked less like a private residence and more like a forward operating military base.
Armed guards patrolled the iron perimeter fence with Belgian Malinois attack dogs. Infrared floodlights swept the manicured lawns. In the motor court, three black vans unloaded the contents of the Maple Street cellar under the watchful eyes of Luca’s most trusted lieutenants.
I walked Emily up the grand curved staircase to the third floor.
The Lake Forest mansion had forty-two rooms, but Emily had chosen to stay in the guest wing at the very end of the west corridor. I helped her unpack her small duffel bag into the mahogany dresser.
"Claire," Emily said, sitting heavily on the edge of the king-sized mattress, her feet swollen and her eyes dark with exhaustion. "You don't have to do this. You didn't sign up for a mafia turf war."
I smiled gently, kneeling down to slide her damp shoes off her feet. "Emily, my father worked thirty years in the steel mills down in Gary. When he got black lung, the company denied his pension and sent two private security thugs to intimidate our family into dropping the lawsuit. I know what bullies look like. Vanessa Bellini thinks people like us are disposable."
Emily looked at me, touched. "You're not disposable, Claire. Neither is Michael. But I'm terrified for him. If Vanessa’s family finds out about Michael..."
"Your father already sent three men to his apartment," I assured her, standing up. "Luca had Michael picked up forty minutes ago. He’s on his way here right now under armed escort."
Right on cue, a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
The door swung open, and Luca stepped inside, followed by a tall, slightly disheveled young man wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a corduroy jacket, and faded denim.
"Emily!"
Michael dropped his canvas backpack onto the rug and rushed across the room. Emily let out a broken sob, launching herself from the bed into his arms. Michael caught her effortlessly, cradling the back of her head, his face burying into her neck.
"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Michael asked frantically, his hands immediately finding her baby bump, checking on their child. "A group of men in tactical vests knocked on my door at three in the morning and told me Luca Moretti required my presence immediately. I thought... I thought someone found out about us."
"Someone did," Emily whispered, kissing his cheek. "Dad found out."
Michael stiffened. He slowly turned his head to look at Luca, who stood near the fireplace with his hands tucked into his slacks pockets.
Michael swallowed hard. He was a high school history teacher who spent his weekends volunteering at local libraries. Standing in front of the legendary head of the Moretti syndicate, he looked like a gazelle facing a lion.
"Mr. Moretti," Michael said, clearing his throat and standing up straight, keeping Emily firmly behind him. "If you're angry with Emily, direct it at me. She wanted to tell you about the pregnancy two months ago. I was the one who insisted we wait until we bought our townhouse so you wouldn't think I was after your money."
Luca didn't say anything for five excruciating seconds. He simply studied the young teacher. He looked at Michael’s scuffed shoes, the patch sewn onto the elbow of his jacket, and the protective, unwavering way he positioned his body between Emily and potential danger.
"Do you love my daughter, Michael?" Luca asked quietly.
"With everything I have, sir."
"Will you protect my grandchild?"
"With my life."
Luca nodded once. "Then sit down and stop shaking. You're giving my daughter anxiety, and high blood pressure is bad for the baby."
Luca turned toward me. "Claire, bring up some hot soup and sandwiches for them both. Then come to my study."
Ten minutes later, I knocked on the heavy oak doors of Luca’s private study on the ground floor.
"Enter," his voice called out.
The room smelled of Cuban tobacco, aged scotch, and leather. The walls were lined with thousands of rare first-edition books. Behind a massive mahogany desk, Luca was staring at a bank of sixteen security monitors showing different angles of the estate.
On one of the screens, I saw Vanessa Bellini sitting in a small, windowless concrete room inside the gatehouse. She was still wearing her red silk gown, but the fabric was torn at the shoulder, her mascara smeared across her cheeks as she furiously pounded her fists against the locked reinforced door.
"She’s been screaming for four hours," Luca said without looking away from the monitor. "She claims she has asthma. She claims she will sue me for unlawful imprisonment."
"Are you going to kill her, Mr. Moretti?" I asked, keeping my tone respectful.
Luca finally turned his chair to look at me. "I don't murder women, Claire. Even women who deserve it. But Vanessa Bellini will never see the outside of a federal penitentiary once I hand Carmela’s ledgers to the United States Department of Justice."
I tilted my head, surprised. "The Department of Justice? I thought men in your line of work handled these things... internally."
Luca poured two fingers of scotch into a crystal tumbler, sliding it across the desk toward me. I politely declined with a slight shake of my head.
"If I kill Antonio Bellini in the street," Luca explained, "the Commission will hold a tribunal. Blood demands blood. It would spark a war that would last five years and claim dozens of innocent lives—including, potentially, Emily, Michael, and my unborn grandchild."
He took a slow sip of the amber liquid.
"However, if the federal government indicts the entire Bellini family for racketeering, contract murder, and laundering union pension funds using Carmela’s unimpeachable evidence... the Commission will consider Antonio Bellini a toxic liability. They will abandon him to the wolves. He will be stripped of his soldiers before he even realizes the indictment has been unsealed."
Luca leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.
"Which brings me to why I called you in here, Claire."
"Sir?"
"At eight o'clock this morning, Antonio Bellini is arriving at my front gate. He believes he is coming to discuss the final guest list for my wedding to his daughter. He does not know that Vanessa is in a cell, nor does he know we recovered the Maple Street ledgers."
Luca opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a small, sleek black panic button no larger than a key fob. He slid it across the mahogany surface.
"I need you to stay with Emily and Michael in the panic room behind the wine cellar," Luca said, his voice dropping into deadly seriousness. "Antonio will not come alone. He will have at least four bodyguards. If anything goes sideways during our conversation... if you hear gunfire on the main floor... you press that button. A hidden tunnel will open behind the vault shelving, leading out to the boathouse on the lake. Marco’s brother will be waiting there with a speedboat."
I took the small plastic fob. It felt cold against my palm.
"And what about you, Mr. Moretti?" I asked quietly.
Luca looked back at the security monitor showing his late wife’s photo sitting on the corner of his desk.
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"Seven years ago, Carmela died alone in a hospital room while I was negotiating peace treaties with the men who poisoned her," Luca whispered, his eyes blazing with an icy, terrifying fire. "Today, Claire... today the Bellinis learn what happens when peace is no longer an option."
***
