Chapter 9 - The Bellini Patriarch’s Ultimatum
By two o’clock that afternoon, the quiet residential enclave of Lake Forest had
become a fortified war zone.
Three armored black Cadillacs bearing Illinois executive license plates rolled
past the iron front gates of the Moretti estate, escorted by six DeLuca private
security motorcycles.
Don Carmine Bellini had arrived.
Seventy-one years old, with slicked-back silver hair, tailored in an immaculate
charcoal Brioni suit, Don Carmine walked into the grand foyer leaning heavily on
an ebony cane with an 18-karat gold lion’s head.
He looked every bit the distinguished elder statesman of Chicago’s Italian
community. But behind his warm, grandfatherly smile was the mind of a ruthless
sociopath who had ordered the execution of twelve rival capos over three
decades.
Luca received him in the grand library.
I stood behind the half-opened double doors of the adjoining study, hidden by
the heavy velvet drapes, under Luca’s strict instructions to watch and listen.
Luca sat behind his massive mahogany desk, wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his
arms resting casually on the leather armrests. On the desk between them sat a
single crystal glass of sparkling water and the small olive-wood box from Lake
Como.
Don Carmine settled into the deep leather armchair opposite Luca, resting his
hands over the gold head of his cane.
“Luca,” Don Carmine said, his voice deep, gravelly, and dripping with false
affection. “My daughter called me in tears at dawn, claiming that your guards
had confined her to the guest pavilion like a common criminal. I assume this is
some grotesque misunderstanding?”
Luca didn't blink. He reached out and opened the olive-wood box with a soft,
audible click.
He lifted the heavy gold signet ring and placed it directly in the center of the
desk.
Don Carmine’s smile vanished instantly. His rheumy eyes dilated, locking onto
the roaring lion engraved on the gold seal.
“Where did you get that?” Carmine rasped, his knuckles whitening on his cane.
“Sophia gave it to me this morning,” Luca replied smoothly. “Along with the
original 1994 territorial charter bearing your personal signature.”
Don Carmine went completely rigid. “That document was destroyed thirty years
ago.”
“It was preserved by an honest man,” Luca countered, his voice dropping into a
register of icy authority. “And this morning, your daughter attempted to murder
my junior housemaid with deadly nightshade to keep the truth from surfacing.”
Carmine let out a low, dry chuckle that sounded like stones rattling in a tin
cup.
“A housemaid, Luca? You are threatening the alliance of the two greatest
families in the Midwest over a replaceable servant girl?”
“She is not replaceable,” Luca said, his voice low, steady, and terrifying. “And
neither is the debt you owe my family.”
Luca picked up a thick manila folder and tossed it across the desk. It landed
with a heavy slap against Carmine’s knees.
“Fifty million dollars in unauthorized offshore gambling debts,” Luca recited.
“Six million siphoned from the Calumet River container freight over the last
twenty-four months. Under Clause Three of the 1994 charter, your commercial
docks, your shipping licenses, and your seats on the Syndicate Council are
forfeited to the Moretti family as of midnight tonight.”
Carmine’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of crimson. He leaned forward,
stabbing his cane into the thick Persian rug.
“You arrogant little bastard,” Carmine snarled, dropping every shred of his
aristocratic facade. “You think a piece of paper and an antique ring can protect
you? I have forty armed soldiers stationed between here and the expressway. If I
do not leave this house with Vanessa and that charter by five o’clock, my men
will reduce this mansion to rubble.”
Luca didn't even flinch. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his long
legs, and checked his Rolex.
“It is currently two-fifteen, Carmine,” Luca said calmly. “At two-thirty, the
Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Illinois Attorney General’s Office will
execute twenty-four simultaneous search warrants on your private warehouses in
Cicero, your shell corporations in River North, and your personal residence in
Barrington.”
Carmine froze. “You wouldn't dare. Bringing federal heat onto the syndicate is a
death sentence under the council rules!”
“I am not bringing federal heat onto the syndicate,” Luca corrected with a cold,
predatory smile. “I am turning over evidence of your private, unauthorized
cartel operations. The syndicate council voted unanimously at noon today to
expel the Bellini family permanently.”
He pointed toward the tall French windows overlooking the driveway.
Outside, six black tactical SUVs bearing the crests of the four remaining
Chicago families pulled into the courtyard, surrounding Carmine’s Cadillacs.
May you like
“You have no soldiers, Carmine,” Luca whispered. “You have no daughter to marry
into my name. And you have no empire left to save.”
