Chapter 8 - Midnight at the Bellini Rail YardBy 3:30 AM, the rain had turned into a cold, driving sleet that battered the industrial freight yards along the Calumet River.
A convoy of four black armored Suburbans sat idling with their headlights extinguished near the entrance of the Bellini logistics terminal.
Daniel stood on the wet gravel, speaking into his encrypted radio handset.
“All perimeter gates secured, boss,” Daniel reported, walking over to the passenger window of the lead vehicle where Luca sat. “The federal marshals have arrived with the asset forfeiture warrants. Every shipping container, every diesel locomotive, and every commercial lease bearing the Bellini name is officially impounded.”
Luca nodded once, looking out at the sprawling rail yard.
Sitting in the back seat of the trailing transport van were Salvatore and Vanessa Bellini, their hands secured in heavy steel transport cuffs, flanked by four federal agents in tactical windbreakers.
Salvatore was slumped against the reinforced window, his shoulder wrapped in bloody gauze, his eyes vacant and defeated.
Vanessa was curled into a ball on the bench seat, her red silk dress torn and stained with mud, her face pale as a ghost, staring into the dark expanse of the rail yard she had murdered her husband to possess.
Luca stepped out of the vehicle into the freezing sleet, pulling the collar of his heavy wool coat up against the wind.
He walked over to the open door of the federal transport van.
He looked at Vanessa.
She didn't speak. She didn't scream anymore. What little sanity she had possessed had been shattered by the realization that thirty years in a federal penitentiary awaited her in the morning.
“Julian’s mother has her son back, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice flat and steady against the howling wind. “And by sunrise, your name will be completely erased from the public record of this state.”
He looked at the lead federal marshal.
“Take them to the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Chicago. Inform Assistant US Attorney Marcus Vance that the Moretti organization will provide full forensic cooperation during the grand jury proceedings.”
“Understood, Don Luca,” the marshal replied, slamming the heavy steel van doors shut.
The convoy rolled out of the terminal gates, their red taillights disappearing into the freezing mist of the industrial corridor.
Luca stood alone on the gravel for several seconds, watching the empty tracks, feeling the cold wind off Lake Michigan wash away the last lingering poison of the Bellini family.
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He turned on his heel, walked back to his vehicle, and climbed into the passenger seat.
“Take us home, Daniel,” Luca commanded softly. “I have someone waiting for me.”
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