Chapter 5 - The Retaliation from the Bellini Cartel Begins with Fire in the Dead of Midnight
The retaliation came faster than we anticipated.
At two o’clock on Friday morning, the silence of Little Italy was shattered by a deafening explosion.
I was asleep in the guest suite of Luca’s mansion when Marco pounded on the door.
“Emma! Boss says get dressed now!”
I threw on jeans and a heavy wool coat, running downstairs to the driveway where three black SUVs were idling, exhaust billowing into the freezing night air.
Luca stood by the lead vehicle, wearing a tactical jacket, a dark look of pure murder on his face.
“What happened?” I asked, panic surging through my veins.
“Caruso’s Trattoria,” Luca said, his voice flat and deadly. “Two Molotov cocktails thrown through the front dining window.”
“Teresa!” I screamed.
“She’s safe,” Luca caught my shoulders, his grip grounding me. “Marco’s guards were stationed across the street. They pulled her out through the back alley before the smoke reached her apartment upstairs. But the restaurant is burning.”
We sped through the empty streets of Chicago, sirens wailing in the distance.
When we arrived at Taylor Street, the night sky was glowing orange.
Fire engines surrounded the block, high-pressure hoses blasting water into the historic brick building. Thick black smoke poured from the shattered front windows of Caruso’s Trattoria.
On the sidewalk across the street, Teresa Caruso sat wrapped in a red wool blanket, surrounded by four of Luca’s heavily armed guards.
I ran across the slush-covered pavement and threw my arms around her.
“Teresa! Are you hurt?”
The old woman was shaking uncontrollably, her face smudged with soot.
“My photos, Emma...” she wept, pointing toward the roaring flames. “The pictures of my wedding... Antonio and my husband... the old guestbooks... fifty years of memories...”
Luca walked over, his boots crunching against broken glass.
He knelt down beside the blanket.
“Teresa.”
She looked at him with heartbreak in her eyes.
“They burned it, Luca. She promised she would burn it, and she did.”
Luca reached out, gently wiping soot from her cheek.
“Brick can be rebuilt, Teresa. Photos can be reprinted. But you are alive.”
He stood up and looked back at the burning building.
Two blocks away, parked under the shadow of an elevated train track, sat a sleek silver Mercedes.
The driver’s side window rolled down slightly.
Inside sat Vanessa Bellini, holding a glowing cigarette, a cruel, triumphant smile plastered across her face.
She raised two fingers in a mock salute, rolled up her window, and accelerated into the night.
Marco stepped up beside Luca, raising an automatic rifle. “Boss, give the word. I’ll take out their tires right now.”
“No,” Luca said, his voice eerily calm. “Shooting her in an alley is too easy. She wants a war? We are going to destroy every single thing the Bellini family owns in the light of day.”
He turned to his chief of operations.
“Call the city’s top historical restoration contractor. Call the best master carpenters in Illinois. I want a crew of fifty men on this site by 7:00 AM.”
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Luca looked back at Teresa and me.
“We are going to rebuild Caruso’s Trattoria. It will be bigger, grander, and completely fireproof. And on opening night... we are going to invite every politician, every judge, and every citizen in this city to watch Carmine Bellini fall.”
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