Chapter 6 - Midnight at the Calumet BasinThe grand dining hall of the Chicago compound was illuminated by three massive crystal chandeliers, filled with forty syndicate capos, port commissioners, and foreign delegates drinking dark roast espresso and eating warm pastries.
At the center of the head table stood Matteo Rossi, wearing his bespoke charcoal three-piece suit.
Around his wrist gleamed a solid platinum watch that had belonged to his late brother, Julian.
Standing to his left was Marco, his tactical harness concealed beneath a tailored wool overcoat.
And sitting in the high-backed armchair directly to Matteo’s right, wearing an elegant navy silk dress that draped gracefully over her fiberglass cast, was me.
The double mahogany doors swung open.
Camilla Vance walked into the hall on the arm of her father, Don Arthur Vance.
Camilla had changed into an exquisite ivory silk morning gown, her platinum hair styled in elaborate coils, diamonds glittering at her throat. Her father, a tall, aristocratic man of sixty-four with slicked-back silver hair and cold, calculating blue eyes, smiled expansively at the assembly.
They believed their plan was still rolling forward in the shadows.
They believed Julian Vance had finished degaussing the drive, that the two attack boats were idling at Navy Pier, and that within two hours, Matteo would be dead at the bottom of the Chicago River while they assumed legal conservatorship over the entire Great Lakes logistics network.
When Camilla reached the head of the table, she looked at Matteo, offering a rehearsed, demure smile.
Then her eyes drifted down to the chair beside him.
She saw me.
She saw the navy silk gown, the clean white fiberglass cast resting on a velvet cushion, and the calm, fearless dignity in my eyes.
Camilla’s smile froze. Her hand tightened on her father’s arm until her acrylic nails bit through his wool sleeve.
“Matteo, darling...” Camilla began, her voice tight and high-pitched. “Why is your domestic cleaner sitting at the high council table?”
Matteo didn't smile. He didn't answer her.
He reached onto the table, picked up his silver water goblet, and tapped the rim with a silver spoon.
The clear, ringing chime cut through the room like an executioner’s bell.
The forty capos fell dead silent.
Matteo turned his gray, predatory eyes directly onto Arthur Vance.
“Arthur,” Matteo said, his voice quiet enough that every man in the room leaned forward to hear.
“Yes, Matteo, my boy?” Arthur answered, a sharp flicker of unease passing through his patrician features.
“Two years ago, my brother Julian’s boat exploded in the Calumet Basin,” Matteo said softly. “The police report stated that an auxiliary fuel line ruptured due to metal fatigue.”
Arthur’s throat bobbed. “A terrible tragedy, Matteo. We all mourned him.”
May you like
Matteo tapped a button on the remote console resting beside his plate.
“Then why does the archival server footage show your private yacht, The Valkyrie, ramming my brother’s hull at forty knots three minutes before the blast?”
Related Stories
