Chapter 3 - The Ghost from Chicago
Three days later, the secure compound in the Hudson Valley was as silent as a tomb. Surrounded by wrought-iron gates and patrolled by armed guards, the sprawling stone mansion felt more like a fortress than a home.
Emma was safely tucked away in the west wing, coloring pictures with her ever-growing collection of buttons, completely unaware of the invisible war raging around her.
I stood in Alessandro’s private study, watching the rain beat against the reinforced glass windows. The door opened quietly, and Marco stepped inside, holding a thick manila folder stamped with red classification seals.
“We ran the biometric profile on the Solari operative’s encrypted communication logs,” Marco reported, dropping the folder onto the desk. “The person orchestrating the surveillance isn’t just some low-level captain from Chicago. It’s Vincent Solari himself.”
Alessandro looked up from his desk, narrowing his eyes. “Vincent? I thought his brother died in the dock wars two years ago.”
“He did,” Marco said. “And Vincent blames you for not stepping in to arbitrate the territory split. He’s been waiting for an opening to tear the Moretti family apart from the inside out. He thought he could use a civilian mother and child to humiliate you publicly, then eliminate them to break your focus.”
I stepped forward, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “How long before he makes another move?”
“Sooner than he thinks,” Alessandro said, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, encrypted burner phone. “Marco sent a localized ping using the dead man’s frequency. Vincent thinks his operative is still active in New York. He just sent a transmission.”
Alessandro slid the phone across the mahogany wood.
The screen blinked with a single text message:
The blue button opens the safe. Deliver the girl by midnight, or the gallery burns.
The silence in the room stretched thin, heavy with impending violence. Vincent Solari thought he had cornered the most feared man in New York by threatening the people he had grown to care for.
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He didn't realize that in trying to manufacture Alessandro’s weakness, he had accidentally given him an unbreakable shield.
“Midnight,” Alessandro repeated, his voice dangerously smooth as he stood up and reached for his leather holster resting on the side table. “Let’s go welcome Mr. Solari to New York.”
