Chapter 4 – THE BLOOD ON THE MARBLE

The words sucked the oxygen out of the room.

They took him.

Dante Moretti, the untouchable king of Chicago, had been captured in his own home.

Bianca began to laugh, a hysterical, triumphant sound that echoed off the concrete walls.

“I told you!” she crowed, straightening her ruined dress. “He’s finished. The Russos will torture him for the ledger, and then they will cut his throat.”

I didn’t look at her. I looked at Marco.

“Where did they take him?” I demanded.

Marco wiped blood from his eye, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I don’t know, ma’am. They ambushed us in the grand foyer. There were too many. They dragged him into a black van and breached the perimeter.”

“Call the Commission,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Call the other families.”

“We can’t,” Marco shook his head. “If the Commission finds out the Boss was taken from his own home, they’ll view it as a sign of weakness. They’ll carve up his territory by morning. We have to handle this in-house.”

“There is no in-house left!” Bianca spat. She walked toward the door. “Move out of my way, Marco. I’m leaving.”

Marco didn’t move. He looked at me for orders.

I looked down at Leo. The little boy was staring at me, his gray eyes shining with unshed tears. He was waiting to see if the woman who promised not to hate him would fight for his father.

I knelt and picked up the small silver key Bianca had dropped during our struggle.

The key to the ledger.

I stood up. I walked directly up to Bianca.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” I said softly.

Before she could speak, I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. Hard.

The sound cracked like a whip. Bianca stumbled backward, holding her reddening cheek in pure shock.

“Marco,” I ordered. “Zip-tie her wrists to the plumbing pipes in the corner. If she makes a sound, gag her.”

“You can’t do this!” Bianca screamed as Marco grabbed her roughly. “I’m the mother of his child!”

“You sold your child,” I replied coldly. “You lost your rights to that title.”

I turned back to Marco as he finished securing a weeping Bianca to the heavy steel pipes.

“How many loyal men do we have left on the property?” I asked.

“Twelve,” Marco said. “The rest are dead or wounded.”

“Arm them. We are getting my husband back.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, we don’t know where they took him. We have no leverage.”

I held up the silver key.

“We have the ledger.”

I grabbed my phone and dialed a number I had sworn never to call. The private, unlisted cell phone of Lorenzo Russo. Dante had kept it in his emergency contacts for peace negotiations.

It rang twice.

“Dante,” Lorenzo’s gravelly voice answered. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to call while my men were busy breaking your fingers.”

My stomach churned violently, but my voice didn’t waver.

“This isn’t Dante. This is his wife.”

Lorenzo chuckled. “Ah. The beautiful Elena. I suppose you’re calling to beg for his body?”

“I’m calling to make a trade,” I said. “I have the silver key. The one that opens the safety deposit box containing the black ledger.”

Silence hung heavy on the line.

“Bianca told you,” Lorenzo murmured. “That stupid woman.”

“I have the key, Lorenzo. If Dante dies, I will take that ledger directly to the FBI. Your entire family will burn.”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have the stomach for a war.”

“I am a Moretti,” I said, injecting every ounce of Dante’s lethal authority into my tone. “Test me, and see what happens.”

A long, tense pause followed.

“The abandoned shipyard on Navy Pier,” Lorenzo finally said. “Warehouse 4. Bring the key. Come alone. If I see a single security guard, Dante loses his head.”

The line went dead.

Marco stared at me. “Ma’am, it’s a suicide mission. They will kill you both the second you hand over that key.”

“I know,” I said.

I walked over to Leo. I knelt down and cupped his small face.

“Leo, Marco is going to keep you safe in this room. Do not open the door for anyone but me or your dad. Do you understand?”

Leo nodded bravely. “Are you going to save him?”

“I’m going to bring him home.”

I stood up. I didn’t pack a bag this time. I walked into the ruined bedroom and found Dante’s spare weapon hidden beneath the mattress. A small, silver .38 caliber pistol. I slipped it into the pocket of my black silk gown.

I looked at Marco.

“I told Lorenzo I would come alone. And I will.”

“Mrs. Moretti, please—”

“But,” I continued, locking eyes with the security chief, “Lorenzo didn’t say anything about my men waiting outside the warehouse. Give me exactly ten minutes inside. Then, you breach the doors and kill every Russo you see.”

Marco’s face hardened into a fierce, respectful smile.

“Understood, boss.”

I walked out of the penthouse and descended into the rainy Chicago night.

I drove Dante’s black sedan myself. The streets were slick and empty, reflecting the neon lights of the city.

I pulled into the desolate, rusted gates of Navy Pier. Warehouse 4 loomed in the fog, a massive corrugated steel tomb.

I parked the car. I left the headlights on.

I walked into the warehouse.

It was dark, smelling of oil and saltwater.

In the center of the concrete floor, illuminated by a single harsh spotlight, was Dante.

He was tied to a metal chair. His face was beaten, his white shirt soaked in blood.

Standing behind him was Lorenzo Russo, holding a heavy hunting knife against Dante’s throat.

“Welcome to the widow’s club, Elena,” Lorenzo smiled.

Dante lifted his head. He saw me through his swollen eyes.

And instead of fear, Dante’s face twisted in absolute terror.

“Elena, run!” Dante roared, straining against the ropes. “It’s a trap! He doesn’t want the ledger!”

I froze.

Lorenzo laughed, pressing the knife harder into Dante’s skin.

“He’s right, my dear. The ledger is worthless. I already have copies.”

Lorenzo looked at me with a cold, triumphant gleam.

“I brought you here because you are wearing the Moretti family pin on your dress. The one containing the microchip that controls Dante’s offshore accounts.”

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