Chapter 5 – The Uncle’s Betrayal
The opulent bedroom felt like a tomb.
“It is my brother. Antonio.”
I stared at Sofia Castellano, the elegant matriarch standing amidst the bodies of the mercenaries she had just executed.
“Your brother?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Roman’s uncle is working for the cartel?”
“Worse,” Sofia said, her voice dropping to a harsh, bitter register. “He isn’t working for them. He brought them here. He orchestrated this entire hostile takeover to seize control of the Chicago syndicate from my son.”
Emma clutched my arm, her face pale. “Why would he do that to his own family?”
Sofia let out a cold, humorless laugh. “In our world, blood is only thicker than water until money is introduced. Antonio has always believed the empire belonged to him. When my husband died, the Commission passed the title of Don to Roman, not Antonio. My brother has spent the last five years quietly plotting his revenge.”
She walked over to the dead guards on the floor, looking at their tactical gear with sheer disgust.
“He used your husband, Laura,” Sofia explained, turning back to me. “Steven’s contracting business was the perfect front to wash the cartel’s blood money. Antonio fed Steven lucrative contracts, made him feel powerful, and then trapped him with the forged deeds and loans.”
The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. Steven wasn’t a criminal mastermind. He was a greedy, arrogant pawn who had walked blindly into a trap set by a man playing a much larger, deadlier game.
“And the mug?” I asked, my heart pounding. “Why did Steven paint the account numbers on Emma’s mug?”
“Because Steven was a coward,” a deep voice answered from the doorway.
I spun around.
Roman stood in the threshold, flanked by Marco and four heavily armed loyalists. He looked exhausted, his white shirt stained with sweat and blood, but his dark eyes burned with a terrifying, focused wrath.
He holstered his weapon and walked into the room, stepping over the bodies as if they were discarded furniture.
“Steven knew Antonio was going to betray him eventually,” Roman said, his voice a low rumble as he approached us. “He knew that once the money was washed, Antonio would eliminate him to tie up loose ends. Steven needed leverage. An insurance policy.”
Roman stopped in front of me, his gaze sweeping over my face, checking for injuries. The brief flash of relief in his eyes was unmistakable before the Don returned.
“He memorized the offshore routing numbers,” Roman continued, “but he knew Antonio’s men would tear his office and his home apart looking for a physical copy. So he hid them in plain sight. On a sentimental object he knew you would keep forever.”
“He didn’t give it to me,” I whispered, tears of profound betrayal spilling over my lashes. “He kept it from me. He used our daughter’s gift as a safety deposit box.”
Roman’s jaw clenched so tightly a muscle feathered in his cheek. He reached out, his warm, rough thumb gently wiping the tear from my face.
“He won’t use anyone ever again,” Roman promised fiercely.
I swallowed hard, terrified of the answer, but needing to know. “Is he… is Steven dead?”
Roman let his hand drop. He looked at Emma, who was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, before looking back at me.
“No,” Roman stated firmly. “He is alive. Broken, but alive. I handed him over to the federal authorities twenty minutes ago.”
I gasped in shock. “The authorities? You didn’t kill him?”
“If I kill him, he becomes a martyr for Antonio’s cause,” Roman explained coldly. “If I hand him to the feds with a neat little bow and enough evidence to lock him away for fifty years, he becomes a rat. The cartel will hunt him down in prison, and I keep my hands clean.”
It was a ruthless, brilliant move. Steven would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, trapped in a cage, entirely helpless. It was a fate worse than a quick death.
“But Antonio is still out there,” Sofia interjected, walking toward her son. “He knows Steven talked. He knows we have the account numbers. He will not wait, Roman. He will strike tonight with the full force of the cartel backing him.”
Roman nodded grimly. “I know, Mother. That’s why we aren’t waiting for him to come to us.”
He turned to Marco. “Load the vehicles. Bring every man we have. We are hitting Antonio’s compound on the Gold Coast before sunrise.”
“Boss, that’s a fortress,” Marco cautioned, though he didn’t lower his weapon. “It’s heavily fortified. And if the cartel is backing him, he’ll have fifty armed men waiting.”
“Then we bring fifty-one,” Roman ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. “He tried to kill my sister. He tried to kill the woman under my protection. I am going to end his bloodline tonight.”
“Roman, wait,” I said, stepping forward, grabbing his arm.
He looked down at me, the murderous fury in his eyes softening just a fraction. “I can’t stay, Laura. It’s not safe here until he is dead.”
“I know,” I breathed, terrified for him. “But you can’t just storm a fortress. It’s a suicide mission. There has to be another way.”
“There is no other way in this life,” Roman said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “This is how disputes are settled.”
“But you have the mug,” I argued, my mind racing. “You have the account numbers. Can’t you just take the money? If Antonio loses ten million dollars of cartel money, won’t the cartel turn on him?”
Roman froze.
He stared at me, his eyes widening in sudden, brilliant realization.
“The money,” Roman whispered.
He looked at his mother. Sofia was smiling, a slow, predatory grin spreading across her elegant features.
“She’s right, Roman,” Sofia purred, looking at me with newfound, deep respect. “The cartel is loyal to profit, not blood. If Antonio loses their investment, they will view him as a liability. They will execute him for us.”
Roman turned to Marco. “Get the accountant on the line. Now.”
Marco pulled out a satellite phone, dialing rapidly.
“I need access to a terminal,” Roman muttered, pacing the room. “We need to initiate a wire transfer from the Cayman accounts to an untraceable shell company before Antonio realizes what we’re doing.”
“Boss,” Marco said, holding out the phone. “The accountant says the transfer requires a dual-authorization code. The routing numbers on the mug aren’t enough to move the funds. We need the physical security token Antonio carries.”
The hope that had just blossomed in the room shattered instantly.
“A physical token?” Roman snarled, slamming his fist against the heavy mahogany desk. “He keeps it on him at all times. We still have to breach the compound to get it!”
The room plunged into a suffocating, heavy silence. We were back to a suicide mission.
Suddenly, a small, trembling voice echoed from the bed.
“I know where the token is.”
We all turned.
Emma was standing by the bed, her face pale, her hands wringing nervously.
“What did you say, Emma?” I asked gently, stepping toward her.
“The token,” Emma repeated, swallowing hard. “Dad told me about it a few months ago. He said his new business partner was paranoid about cyber security and used an old-school physical key fob to authorize massive transfers.”
“Did he say where Antonio keeps it?” Roman demanded, his voice tight with anticipation.
Emma shook her head. “Antonio doesn’t keep it, Mr. Castellano.”
She looked at me, tears filling her eyes.
“Dad was the one managing the transfers,” Emma whispered, the horrifying truth spilling out. “Antonio made Dad keep the token so that if the feds ever raided the cartel, Dad would be caught holding the bag, not Antonio.”
Roman went completely still. “Where is the token, Emma?”
Emma took a shaky breath, looking down at the plush carpet.
“Dad didn’t trust his office safe,” Emma cried. “He said he needed to hide it somewhere nobody would ever think to look. Somewhere he knew it would be safe because he legally owned the property, but didn’t live there.”
My blood ran ice-cold.
I looked at Roman. The realization hit us both at the exact same moment.
“My mother’s house,” I breathed, terrified.
“He hid it in Grandma’s house,” Emma confirmed, sobbing. “He told me if anything ever happened to him, I needed to go to the house and dig up the rosebush in the front yard. It’s buried in a lockbox.”
Roman didn’t waste a second. He grabbed his radio.
“Marco! Redirect the convoy!” Roman roared. “We’re not going to the Gold Coast. We’re going to Elm Street!”
“Boss, wait!” Marco shouted back through the radio, panic lacing his voice.
“What?!” Roman demanded.
“Antonio’s men aren’t at the Gold Coast compound,” Marco yelled over the static. “Our spotters just reported movement. Three armored vans just left Antonio’s staging area.”
“Where are they heading?” Roman barked.
The answer made my heart stop entirely.
“They’re heading to Elm Street, Boss,” Marco said grimly. “Antonio already figured it out. He’s going for the token.”
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