Chapter 7
The walkie-talkie hissed with static. The enforcer’s chest heaved as he fought for breath in the freezing air. “Repeat that,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet register. “Marcus sent a digital broadcast, boss,” the enforcer repeated, his eyes darting nervously. “Every syndicate leader from the North Side to Chinatown just received it on their encrypted channels. It’s… it’s a recording from the night Catherine died.” Luca stood motionless. The air in the greenhouse felt as though it had dropped another ten degrees. “Play it,” Luca commanded. The enforcer fumbled with the belt-mounted radio. He pressed a button. A harsh, crackling sound filled the small glass structure. Then, a woman’s voice rang out through the tiny speaker. Clear. Terrified. Pleading.“Please, Marcus! Don’t do this! Luca will find out!” It was Catherine’s voice. My breath caught in my throat. Teresa buried her face in her hands, letting out a muffled sob. Then, a second voice answered on the recording. Deep. Arrogant. Unmistakable.“Luca will never find out, sweet sister-in-law,” Marcus’s voice laughed on the tape.“The brakes were cut by Thomas. Vanessa signed the paperwork. And when your car goes off the cliff tonight, the world will think you drove yourself into the lake because of depression.” The recording ended with a horrifying shriek of tires and a sickening metal crash. Silence descended upon the greenhouse. Heavy. Absolute. Deadly. Luca did not scream. He did not smash anything. He simply closed his eyes. When he opened them a second later, all human warmth had vanished from his expression. He looked less like a man and more like a wraith carved from obsidian stone. “Get the cars ready,” Luca said softly. “Where are we going, boss?” the enforcer asked. “To the old Moretti docks,” Luca replied, his voice chillingly calm. “That’s where Marcus always hides when he’s cornered. He thinks the sea washes away everything.” He turned to look at me. “Hannah, you stay here with my mother. Secure the mansion.” “No,” I said firmly. Luca blinked, surprised. “Excuse me?” “I have the flash drive, Mr. Moretti,” I said, stepping forward. “I found it. I protected it. And I know every name on it because Thomas dropped hints before he ran. You need someone who can access the encrypted files while you handle your brother.” Sofia—who must have escaped from the burning shed and made her way back—stepped through the broken doorway. “She’s right, Luca,” Sofia said, her face smudged with soot. “Hannah stays with us. We’re a pack now. You go alone, Marcus will tear you apart mentally before you even raise a gun. Let us help you finish this.” Luca stared at his sister for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Get in the middle vehicle,” Luca instructed. “If anyone makes a single suspicious move, put a bullet in them.” Ten minutes later, the convoy of black SUVs tore down the snowy Chicago highway. The city lights blurred into streaks of red and yellow against the rain-slicked windows. Inside the armored SUV, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Teresa sat in the front passenger seat, clutching a rosary in her wrinkled hands. Sofia sat beside me in the back row, tapping nervously on her knee. “Hannah,” Sofia whispered, leaning close to my ear. “When we get to the docks, stay behind Luca. Marcus isn’t just a criminal. He’s insane. He’s been planning this coup for five years.” “Why did he want to kill Catherine?” I asked quietly, my eyes fixed on the rain streaming down the glass. “Because Catherine found out the family export business wasn’t just importing wine,” Sofia’s voice dropped to a mere breath. “It was human trafficking. Marcus was running it behind our father’s back. Catherine threatened to go to the FBI. That’s why they had to silence her.” My stomach churned. Everything made horrifying sense now. Vanessa wasn't just a gold-digger. She was placed in Luca’s life by Marcus to keep tabs on him and ensure the secret never leaked. The SUV slowed down, its tires crunching over loose gravel. We had arrived at the old Moretti shipping docks. Diluted yellow light from rusted overhead sodium lamps cast a sickly glow over towering shipping containers. The dark, freezing waters of Lake Michigan lapped violently against the concrete piers. The lead SUV parked smoothly behind a row of stacked cargo containers. Luca stepped out first, his heavy coat billowing in the wind. He pulled a submachine gun from the vehicle's floor mount, checking the magazine with a sharp, metallic click. “Move in,” Luca commanded. We followed him out into the freezing downpour. The rain soaked through my blouse instantly, chilling me to the bone. We crept between towering stacks of steel containers. At the very end of Pier 4 sat an old, rusting warehouse with a single flickering light above the corrugated iron door. Inside, muffled music played—classical opera. Marcus’s favorite. Luca raised his fist, signaling the enforcers to halt. He signaled two men to flank the side entrance, while he prepared to kick down the main double doors. I clutched the flash drive in my pocket, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. This was it. The final confrontation. CLIFFHANGER: As Luca raised his boot to smash open the warehouse door, the heavy iron door swung open on its own from the inside, revealing Marcus sitting comfortably in a leather armchair with a glass of scotch, pointing a sniper rifle directly at Teresa’s chest.
