Chapter 10 - Shadows In The Family Council
The midnight fog rolled off Lake Michigan, swallowing the towering skyscrapers of downtown Chicago in gray mist.
The Union League Club stood like a dark fortress on Jackson Boulevard.
Inside the fourth-floor private boardroom, twelve men sat around an antique oval table made of dark walnut.
These were the captains of the five Chicago families.
Old men with silver hair, heavy signet rings, and eyes that had seen decades of bloodshed.
At the head of the table sat Matteo Moretti.
Seventy years old.
Impeccably dressed in a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit, his hands resting serenely on the head of a silver-topped walking cane.
He looked like a retired statesman.
A philanthropist.
A beloved elder.
The heavy double doors opened, and Luca walked into the room.
He didn't wear a three-piece suit.
He wore his black leather coat, his tactical vest beneath it, and his boots clicked heavily against the parquet floor.
Ray and Daniel stood guard at the doorway, their hands resting on their holstered weapons.
I walked three steps behind Luca, carrying my uncle’s leather satchel.
The twelve captains shifted uncomfortably in their high-backed leather chairs.
Matteo smiled warmly, raising his hands in a welcoming gesture.
“Luca, my boy,” Matteo said, his voice rich and grandfatherly.
“We were worried when you called an emergency assembly at this hour.”
“We heard rumors of gunfire near South State Street.”
“Are you unharmed?”
Luca walked to the opposite end of the long table, resting his palms flat against the dark wood.
“I am perfectly well, Uncle Matteo.”
“Unlike the men you hired to assassinate me this afternoon.”
The silence that fell over the boardroom was absolute.
One of the older captains, Carmine Rossi, leaned forward, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.
“Luca, what are you saying? Matteo is your blood! Your consigliere!”
Luca did not take his eyes off his uncle’s calm, smiling face.
“Matteo was Victor Corvallis’s silent partner thirty years ago.”
“He authorized the murder of my mother.”
Matteo’s smile did not waver.
He laughed softly, shaking his head with gentle pity.
“The boy is stressed. The betrayal of Vanessa Bellini has rattled his mind.”
“You bring wild accusations to this sacred table, Luca, without a shred of evidence.”
“Show us proof, or sit down and let the elders govern.”
Luca stood up straight.
“Emma.”
I stepped forward to the center of the table.
I opened the satchel and pulled out a heavy steel safety deposit box.
Box 104 from the State Bank on LaSalle Street.
I used my uncle’s precision pick tools to pop the dual cylinder locks in three smooth motions.
The heavy lid swung back.
Inside lay two items.
A thick leather ledger bound with brass clasps.
And a velvet pouch.
I untied the pouch and tipped it onto the polished walnut table.
A collective gasp echoed around the room.
The Star of Genoa rolled across the dark wood, stopping precisely in the center of the table.
Seven point one two carats of flawless, deep vivid blue fire.
The diamond blazed under the crystal chandeliers like a fallen fragment of the midnight sky.
Every captain in the room stared at the stone in absolute reverence.
“The Star of Genoa,” Carmine Rossi breathed, his eyes wide.
“Isabella’s stone.”
Luca pointed toward the leather ledger.
“Emma, read the entry from October 13, 1994.”
I opened the brittle parchment pages.
The ink was slightly faded, but the handwriting was unmistakable.
“ ‘To my son Luca,’ ” I read aloud, my voice steady and clear through the silent room.
“ ‘If you are reading this, know that your uncle Matteo has agreed to sell our family’s dock operations to Victor Corvallis.’ ”
“ ‘He demanded forty percent of the profits in exchange for turning off the security alarms at our Lake Forest home tonight.’ ”
“ ‘The wire transfers were routed through the Bank of Liechtenstein under the name M. Moretti.’ ”
“ ‘The account numbers and transfer slips are attached below.’ ”
Matteo’s smile finally vanished.
The grandfatherly warmth drained from his face, leaving behind a cold, vicious, calculating reptile.
His hand tightened around the silver handle of his cane.
May you like
“You always were too sentimental, Luca,” Matteo spat, his voice dropping all pretense.
“Just like your pathetic mother.”
