Chapter 10 – The Wolf Of Chicago

I froze, the heavy leather ledger pressed tightly against my chest.

Don Bellini walked slowly down the aisle, the silver tip of his walking stick clicking rhythmically against the tile floor.

“I must admit,” Bellini smiled coldly. “I was quite surprised when I heard Robert’s little backup orphan had surfaced. You look exactly like your mother.”

I tightened my grip on the book.

“This ledger belongs to the Moretti family,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Bellini laughed softly.

“This ledger is a death sentence, my dear,” he replied. “If the Commission sees those numbers, my family will be ruined. I cannot allow that to happen.”

He stopped ten feet away from me.

“Hand it over, Isabella. And perhaps I will let you live long enough to go back to scrubbing floors.”

I looked at the two bodyguards. Their guns were steady, aimed right at my heart.

I had the Glock 19 tucked into the waistband of my jeans, hidden by my sweater. But I knew I couldn’t draw it fast enough to shoot both of them before they killed me.

“Where is Luca?” I demanded.

Bellini waved his hand dismissively.

“My men are dealing with him in the Great Hall as we speak,” he said. “He is a brilliant tactician, your brother. But he is vastly outnumbered. Now, the book.”

He held out his hand.

I looked down at the ledger.

This book was the reason my mother was forced to give me away. It was the reason Marco had to fake his death. It was the reason Robert had tortured Anna.

Generations of pain, all contained in these leather-bound pages.

“No,” I said quietly.

Bellini’s smile vanished.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no,” I repeated, lifting my chin.

Bellini sighed. “Kill her. Take the book.”

The bodyguards raised their pistols.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the bullets.

BANG. BANG.

Two deafening gunshots echoed in the confined space.

But I didn’t feel any pain.

I opened my eyes.

Don Bellini’s two massive bodyguards were crumpled on the floor, blood pooling beneath them.

Bellini stood frozen, staring in absolute shock at the bodies of his men.

Slowly, he turned around.

Standing at the end of the aisle, smoke curling from the barrel of his pistol, was Luca.

He was bleeding from a cut above his eye, his suit torn, but he looked like an avenging angel of death.

“You missed,” Luca said coldly.

Bellini backed away, his aristocratic composure shattering completely.

“Luca,” Bellini stammered, raising his hands. “Let us negotiate. We are men of business.”

Luca slowly walked down the aisle toward him.

“You paid a doctor to steal my baby sister from a hospital,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “You forced my brother to live like a ghost for ten years. You ordered a hit that killed Anna’s sister.”

Bellini hit the row of lockers behind him, trapped.

“I will give you half my territory!” Bellini begged, sweat pouring down his face. “I will give you the shipping docks! The casino!”

Luca stopped two feet away from him.

“I don’t want your territory, Carlo,” Luca said.

Luca raised his gun and pressed the barrel directly against Bellini’s chest.

“I want my family back.”

Luca pulled the trigger.

Don Bellini collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

The silence that followed was heavy and final.

Luca lowered his weapon, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He looked at me.

“Are you okay, Bella?” he asked softly.

I looked at the bodies on the floor, then at my brother.

I nodded, clutching the ledger.

“I’m okay, Luca.”

He walked over and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me tight against his side.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

As we walked out of Union Station, the flashing lights of police cars were just beginning to arrive in the distance.

But we were already slipping into the shadows, disappearing into the Chicago night.

The Bellini family was broken. The truth was secure in our hands.

And for the first time in twenty-six years, the Moretti family was whole.

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