Chapter 6 - A Voice from the GraveThe voice was distorted.
Synthetic.
Like someone speaking through a cracked megaphone.
Yet beneath the machine hum, the cadence was unmistakable.
Luca didn't speak.
His jaw clamped tight enough to break enamel.
“Don't be quiet, Luca,” the voice chuckled.
It sounded like gravel grinding in a cement mixer.
“You used to talk so much when we were kids.”
Luca leaned toward the phone on the console.
“You're burning in hell for this, Matteo.”
A dark laugh erupted through the speaker.
“I already burned, brother. Lake Shore Drive. Remember?”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“You survived that fire.”
“Barely,” Matteo rasped.
“Third-degree burns across forty percent of my torso. Two fake identities. Four surgeries.”
“And you traded your family to the Bellinis?”
“You were never my family,” Matteo snapped.
The mockery in his voice vanished.
Pure hatred poured through the speaker.
“Father gave you the empire. He gave you the docks. The shipping routes. The hotels.”
“You were a drug addict, Matteo,” Luca said calmly.
“You were skimming from the crew.”
“I was the eldest son!” Matteo screamed.
The rage shook the phone’s microphone.
Then Matteo took a slow, wet breath.
“It doesn't matter anymore. The Bellinis control the port now. The Feds have your arrest warrants ready.”
Luca frowned.
“Warrants?”
“Suite 1408 wasn't just a bedroom, Luca,” Matteo purred.
My stomach plummeted.
I leaned forward from the backseat.
“The server,” I whispered.
Luca looked back at me.
“What server?”
I took a fast breath.
“The desk in 1408 had a dedicated T1 fiber line.”
Michael nodded furiously beside me.
“She’s right. That line didn't route through hotel guest Wi-Fi.”
“It routed directly into the hotel's federal tax compliance server,” I said.
The line fell quiet on Matteo’s end.
Then Matteo let out a low whistle.
“Who is the girl, Luca? The little maid?”
Luca reached forward and snatched the phone.
“Don't you ever speak about her.”
“She’s smart,” Matteo laughed.
“Too smart for you. Yes, little girl. Every offshore wire transfer from Bellini Cartel narcotics was run through Luca’s tax ID.”
“By sunrise,” Matteo continued, “the FBI will raid every Moretti warehouse in Illinois.”
“And you?” Luca challenged.
“I’ll be sitting on Don Bellini’s yacht, watching your empire drown.”
The call disconnected with a sharp beep.
Silence flooded the speeding sedan.
Outside, the storm had turned into a violent downpour.
Rain drummed violently against the metal roof.
Luca leaned his head back against the leather seat.
He closed his eyes.
Blood still trickled from his side.
“Boss,” Marco said from the front seat.
“We’re two minutes from the Cicero safe house.”
“Don't stop there,” Luca said without opening his eyes.
Marco glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Boss?”
“If Matteo knows about the tax servers, he knows about Cicero.”
Luca opened his eyes.
They were clear.
Deadly.
“Where do we go, sir?” Michael asked, trembling.
Luca looked straight at me.
His gaze was intense.
Searching.
“Where do you live, Emma?”
I froze.
“My apartment? In Logan Square?”
“Does anyone know you work for me?”
“No,” I said.
“I used an employment agency under my maiden name.”
Luca nodded once.
“Marco. Logan Square.”
“Boss, that’s an exposed neighborhood,” Marco warned.
“It's anonymous,” Luca replied.
“And right now, anonymity is the only weapon we have left.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh magazine.
May you like
He loaded it into his pistol with a solid clack.
“Tonight, we rewrite the ledger.”
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