Chapter 10 – THE CONSIGLIERE’S GAME

“Who is his consigliere?” I asked, a chill running down my spine.

“A man named Silas Thorne,” Luca said, pacing behind his heavy mahogany desk. “He was my father’s right hand. When my father died, Silas disappeared. He took millions from the syndicate and vanished into the wind. We assumed he was dead.”

“If he’s been hiding for twenty years, why surface now?”

“Because I went legitimate,” Luca said, his jaw tight. “I dismantled the syndicate. I shut down the illegal rackets, the loan sharking, the extortion. Silas is old-school. To him, going legitimate is treason.”

“So he sent the photo to punish you?” I asked. “To tear Arthur away from you?”

“No,” Luca realized, his eyes widening. “He didn’t send it to punish me. He sent it to isolate Leo.”

My blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“Silas knows I’m heavily guarded. He knows I have Daniel and fifty men on the payroll,” Luca said rapidly, grabbing his jacket. “But Arthur isn’t guarded. Arthur just walked out of my gates alone. And Arthur is the only person Leo trusts more than me.”

“He’s going to use Arthur to get to Leo,” I gasped.

Luca didn’t wait. He drew his weapon and sprinted out of the study. “Daniel! Get the cars!”

We tore out of the estate just as the sun began to set, casting long, dark shadows over the Chicago streets.

“He’s on foot,” Daniel said from the driver’s seat. “An old man with a cane. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

“Check the bus stops,” I said, remembering how Arthur had arrived at the engagement dinner months ago.

We sped toward the nearest transit hub.

As we pulled up to the concrete shelter, my heart stopped.

Arthur’s battered brown suitcase was sitting on the bench. His cane lay on the sidewalk.

But Arthur was gone.

“Damn it!” Luca roared, kicking the side of the bus shelter.

“Boss, look,” Daniel pointed.

There was a piece of paper tucked under the handle of the suitcase.

Luca grabbed it. It was a polaroid photograph of Arthur, bound and gagged in the back of a van. Written on the bottom was an address. The Old Steel Mill. Bring the boy. Come alone.

“He wants Leo,” I whispered in horror. “To rebuild the syndicate. He wants a Moretti heir he can mold.”

“He is never touching my son,” Luca snarled.

“Luca, you can’t go alone,” I argued. “It’s a trap.”

“I have to,” Luca said. “Daniel, take Hannah back to the estate. Lock down the house. Keep Leo in the panic room.”

“I am not going back to the house!” I yelled, refusing to back down. “I am your fiancé, Luca! We are in this together! I lost my father to these monsters, I am not losing Arthur too!”

Luca looked at my fierce, uncompromising expression. He saw the fire that had kept me alive in the slums of 4th Street.

“You stay in the car,” Luca commanded.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to the rusted, massive gates of the abandoned Chicago Steel Mill. The air smelled of decay and old iron.

Luca stepped out of the SUV, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed. Daniel and I stayed in the dark vehicle, watching through the tinted glass.

A heavy metal door rolled open.

Silas Thorne walked out. He was in his seventies, wearing a pristine white suit, leaning on a silver-tipped cane. Behind him, two massive thugs dragged Arthur out, throwing the old man to the dirt.

“Where is the boy, Luca?” Silas called out, his voice echoing in the empty yard.

“He’s not coming, Silas,” Luca yelled back. “Let the old man go. This is between you and me.”

Silas chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “You have disappointed me, Luca. Your father built an empire of blood, and you turned it into a charity. I need the boy. I need an heir who remembers what it means to be a Moretti.”

“The syndicate is dead!” Luca shouted. “Let him go!”

“If I don’t get the boy,” Silas smiled, raising a silver revolver, “the old man dies.”

Silas aimed the gun directly at Arthur’s head.

“No!” I screamed from the SUV.

I couldn’t stay in the car. I threw the door open and ran into the yard.

“Hannah, get back!” Luca roared.

But my sudden appearance distracted Silas. He turned his gun toward me.

In that split second, Arthur did something unbelievable.

The seventy-two-year-old stroke survivor, battered and bruised on the dirt, didn’t cower. He reached into his oversized gray suit jacket and pulled out the small, rusted revolver he had taken from Marcus’s dropped coat at the cabin three months ago.

Arthur fired once.

The bullet struck Silas squarely in the shoulder.

Silas screamed, dropping his silver revolver.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He drew his hidden backup weapon and fired twice, dropping Silas’s two thugs before they could even react.

The yard fell completely silent.

Silas lay on the ground, clutching his bleeding shoulder, staring in shock at the old bus driver.

Arthur slowly lowered the rusted gun. He looked at Silas, his jaw set in a fierce, unbreakable line.

“I am… a grandfather,” Arthur said slowly, perfectly clearly. “You don’t… touch… my boy.”

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