Chapter 7 - Secrets Hidden in Antonio’s Tailor Shop
The floorboards above creaked as three men descended the wooden basement stairs. They moved methodically, their tactical flashlights cutting through the dust motes and steam of the basement.
“Check the corners!” a gruff voice commanded. “Bellini wants the old man dead and the girl brought in alive. She knows where the ledger is!”
Luca stepped out from behind a heavy rack of woolen overcoats.
Two quick shots spat from his suppressed pistol. The first two men dropped without a sound.
The third gunman swung his rifle, but Marco appeared from the shadows behind him, catching him in a vicious chokehold and driving him face-first into the concrete floor, knocking him cold.
“Clear,” Marco whispered, his breath ragged.
Luca walked over to the fallen lead gunman and kicked his rifle away. He searched the man’s vest, pulling out an encrypted radio.
A voice crackled through the speaker: “Team Alpha, report. Have you secured the girl and the box? The Don is waiting at the harbor penthouse.”
Luca picked up the radio, pressed the transmitter, and spoke in a voice that chilled the basement air:
“Tell Vincent I’m coming for his head. And tell Vanessa her father won’t have enough pieces left to fill a casket.”
He crushed the radio beneath his leather boot.
Antonio and Mia emerged from the reinforced partition, visibly shaken but unharmed.
“You can’t stay here, Antonio,” Luca said, turning to the old tailor. “Marco, get Antonio and Mia into the armored truck. Take them through the south corridor to the safehouse in Lake Forest. Put four of our best men on the perimeter.”
“What about you, boss?” Marco asked.
Luca looked down at the lockbox, then at me.
“Claire and I have a meeting with the Syndicate Commission at midnight.”
“The Commission?” Marco gasped. “Luca, the five families haven't convened an emergency blood court in twenty years. If Vincent Bellini buys off even two of the Dons, they’ll execute you the second you walk through the door!”
“They won't buy off anyone once they hear Michael Moretti’s voice from beyond the grave,” Luca said coldly.
Ten minutes later, Antonio and Mia were safely en route to Lake Forest. Luca and I stood in the quiet of the empty tailor shop, the cold wind blowing through the broken window upstairs.
I looked down at the navy child's coat resting on the workbench beside the lockbox. The brass buttons caught the faint streetlight.
Luca walked over, picked up the coat, and gently slipped it into my canvas bag.
“Why are you keeping it with us?” I asked softly.
Luca looked at me, his dark eyes softening in a way no one in his syndicate had ever seen.
“Because for thirty years, I thought my father died weak, broken, and defeated,” Luca whispered. “This coat... your refusal to burn it... brought my father back to me. It reminded me who a Moretti is supposed to be.”
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He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. His touch was electric, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the freezing Chicago wind.
“Let’s go finish this, Claire.”
