Chapter 2 - The Frequency on the WaterThe sleet turned to needles against the armored glass.
I rose from the carpet with deliberate, mechanical stillness, slipping the severed beacon into my vest pocket.
The library door opened with a quiet hiss. Roberto stepped inside, his broad frame blocking the light from the hallway, his face dark with operational readiness.
“Boss,” Roberto murmured, his hand resting on his suppressed sidearm. “Our perimeter sweep caught an encrypted radio transmission bouncing off the municipal water tower three hundred yards east.”
“A military frequency?” I asked, keeping my voice low so Clara wouldn't startle.
“Direct link to a tactical relay,” Roberto confirmed, stepping closer to the desk. “The signal was pinging an active thermal beacon inside this wing. The moment you clipped that wire, the relay began broadcasting an automated query.”
I looked down at the obsidian king resting on my desk blotter.
The trap had been laid with absolute mathematical precision.
Tonight was the annual Winter Solstice gala of the Chicago Outfit. Over forty syndicate captains, city commissioners, and harbor directors were currently drinking vintage Barolo in the grand ballroom downstairs. At midnight, tradition dictated that I step into this very study, alone, to pour a ceremonial glass of port for my fallen brother before signing the joint shipping charters.
A thermite-tipped drone or a high-caliber anti-materiel round through the bay window wouldn't just kill me. It would vaporize the leadership of the Five Families, leaving the entire waterfront defenseless against a corporate receivership.
And the woman who had planted the targeting beacon was currently downstairs in an emerald satin gown, smiling for society photographers while sipping champagne.
I walked back to the leather armchair.
Clara was watching me, her tiny fingers twisting the ear of her plush bear.
I reached out with both hands, gently lifting her small frame into my arms, resting her against my broad chest.
She didn't pull away. She tucked her head beneath my chin, her breath warm against my neck.
“Roberto.”
“Yes, Don Alessandro.”
“Double the guards on the master suite. Bring Maria inside the east wing quarters and lock down the floor under Level Four protocol. Not a single domestic cleaner or catering server enters without biometric clearance.”
“And Miss Bianca, boss?”
May you like
A cold, lethal smile touched the corners of my mouth.
“Let her drink her champagne,” I whispered. “She believes the beacon is still burning. We are going to let her watch the board play out to checkmate.”
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