Chapter 10 – THE MEETING AT THE ABANDONED CHURCH

The downloading progress bar hit 100%.

The screen displayed a dizzying array of folders—bank accounts, offshore properties, wire transfers, extortion records. The entire history of the American Mafia’s most powerful families, laid bare on a silver laptop.

“How did he get my fingerprint?” I whispered, pulling my hand back from the scanner as if it had burned me.

My mother looked down at her hands, guilt pooling in her eyes. “Ten years ago, when we first moved to Chicago, you had to get fingerprinted for your green card application. The immigration officer… he was on Henrique’s payroll. Henrique needed a ghost biometric, and he knew Antonio’s illegitimate daughter was completely off the grid.”

“He stole my identity before I even knew who I was,” I said, a wave of violation washing over me.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Luca said, quickly transferring the files onto a small, encrypted USB drive. He pulled the drive out and closed the laptop. “We have what they want. Now we just have to deliver it.”

He looked at the back of the cardstock note that had come with the photos.

“Midnight,” Luca read. “St. Jude’s abandoned cathedral in the South Side.”

“I’m going with you,” I said instantly.

“No, Rachel,” Luca argued, shaking his head. “You and Maria are staying here, locked in the safe room. This is a hand-off with the Commission’s top executioners. If things go south, I need to know you’re safe.”

“They sent a picture of me in the crosshairs, Luca,” I countered, crossing my arms. “They know I exist. If you show up alone, they might think it’s a trap. If I’m there, it proves we’re surrendering our leverage.”

Luca stared at me, seeing the stubborn, fierce determination in my eyes—the exact same determination our father possessed. He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fine,” Luca relented. “But you stay in the car. You don’t step foot inside that church.”

Midnight arrived with a bitter, freezing rain that washed the streets of Chicago in slick, reflective black.

We pulled up to the crumbling stone steps of St. Jude’s cathedral in an unmarked SUV. The building had been abandoned for decades, its stained glass windows shattered, the massive wooden doors rotting on their hinges.

It looked like a tomb.

Luca parked the car in the shadows of the alleyway. He turned to me in the passenger seat.

“Keep the doors locked,” Luca instructed, handing me a small, loaded pistol. “If I’m not back out in ten minutes, or if you hear gunfire, you put this car in drive and you don’t stop until you reach the police precinct. Do you understand?”

“Luca, please be careful,” I whispered, taking the gun with trembling hands.

“I always am,” he offered a tight smile, slipping the USB drive into his pocket.

He stepped out into the rain, his dark trench coat billowing in the wind, and walked up the steps into the yawning darkness of the cathedral.

I sat in the car, the engine idling, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

One minute passed. Then three. Then five.

The silence was agonizing. The rain drumming on the roof sounded like a countdown.

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light erupted from the high arched windows of the cathedral.

It wasn’t gunfire. It was an explosion.

The shockwave rattled the windows of the SUV. A plume of smoke and dust billowed out of the front doors.

“Luca!” I screamed, dropping the gun and throwing the car door open.

I didn’t care about the rules. I didn’t care about staying safe. I sprinted through the freezing rain, up the crumbling stone steps, and burst into the ruined cathedral.

The air was thick with gray smoke and the smell of sulfur. Pews were splintered, burning in small, scattered fires.

“Luca!” I yelled, coughing as I waved the smoke away from my face.

“Rachel, get out!” a voice roared from the shadows near the altar.

I ran toward the sound.

Luca was pinned behind a fallen marble pillar, returning fire toward the balcony. Two men in tactical gear were shooting down at him with suppressed automatic weapons. The Commission hadn’t come to make a trade. They had come to wipe the board clean.

“They set a tripwire charge at the altar,” Luca yelled over the gunfire, slamming a fresh magazine into his weapon. “They never intended to take the drive!”

“They want us dead so there are no loose ends!” I realized, crouching low behind a wooden pew.

“I told you to stay in the car!” Luca shouted, blind-firing over the pillar to keep the gunmen pinned.

“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed back.

One of the gunmen on the balcony shifted his position, aiming a laser sight down at my hiding spot. The little red dot danced across the splintered wood right above my head.

“Rachel, move!” Luca roared.

I scrambled to the right just as a hail of bullets shredded the pew where I had been hiding. Wood splinters rained down on me, stinging my face and arms.

“We’re pinned!” Luca yelled, assessing the tactical disadvantage. “They have the high ground!”

Suddenly, a deafening roar echoed from the back of the cathedral.

It wasn’t a gun. It was the sound of a heavy diesel engine.

The massive wooden front doors splintered entirely as a black armored truck smashed through the entrance, driving straight down the center aisle of the church, crushing burning pews beneath its massive tires.

The truck skidded to a halt directly beneath the balcony.

The back doors of the armored truck flew open.

And stepping out, holding a military-grade assault rifle, was a man I never thought I would see again.

It was Raymond Moretti.