Chapter 8 - The Ghost of Cicero
Back inside the safety of the Belmonte fortress, the silver drive was plugged into an isolated mainframe terminal. Marco’s cybersecurity team worked furiously, decoding multi-layered encryption keys that unfolded across four giant monitors.
Files flickered open by the hundreds: offshore bank accounts, shell corporations, video surveillance logs, and audio recordings dating back six years.
“It’s all here,” Marco murmured in awe, scrolling through thousands of scanned documents. “Vincent Marcone wasn't just laundering money through the Ashford Grand. Six years ago, he orchestrated the Cicero ambush to eliminate Adrien because Adrien discovered Marcone had murdered the city comptroller. Marcone staged the burned car, bribed the medical examiner, and assumed Adrien was dead.”
“Where is he, Marco?” Dante demanded, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Where is my brother?”
Marco clicked on a folder marked Safe House Protocols - Emergency Extraction. A live GPS coordinate pinged on the map, locating a small, nondescript cabin situated in the dense pine forests outside Galena, Illinois, three hours west of the city.
Beside the coordinates was a short video file recorded only forty-eight hours earlier. Dante’s hand trembled as he clicked play.
On the screen appeared Adrien Moretti.
He looked older, his face leaner and lined with the fatigue of six years on the run, but his eyes were bright, fierce, and undeniably alive. He was sitting at a wooden kitchen table, wearing a flannel shirt, speaking directly into the webcam.
“Dante,” Adrien’s voice came through the high-end speakers, warm and steady. “If you’re watching this, it means Elena and Lily Brooks found the drive. When I realized Marcone had tracked me to the Ashford, I couldn't stay in Chicago without putting that girl and her sister in the crosshairs. Their father, Thomas Brooks, died trying to blow the whistle on Marcone’s port smuggling ring three years ago. I promised Thomas on his deathbed that I would protect his daughters.”
Elena gasped, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she gripped Lily’s hand tightly. The mystery of her father’s sudden fatal car crash had haunted her for three years; now, the truth was laid bare before her eyes.
“I have the original hard drives with Marcone’s master ledgers here in Galena,” Adrien continued. “Marcone has mobilized every mercenary he owns to intercept me before I can reach the Department of Justice in Springfield. I have enough ammunition for two days, Dante. After that, I’m out of moves. If you still remember what you taught me about holding the perimeter... come get me.”
The screen went black.
The silence in the library was absolute.
Dante stood motionless for ten seconds, his head bowed, the muscles in his jaw ticking with ferocious intensity. When he raised his head, all traces of sorrow, doubt, and hesitation had vanished. In their place stood the undisputed sovereign of Chicago’s underworld, preparing for total war.
“Marco,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of Elena’s neck stand up.
“Yes, boss?”
“Call every captain, every crew, and every resource we have from here to the Mississippi River. Mobilize the armored convoy. Contact the Director of the FBI’s Midwest Field Office and inform him that if he wants Vincent Marcone in handcuffs instead of a body bag, he will have three helicopters waiting at the Galena municipal airfield in two hours.”
“Consider it done,” Marco said, turning on his heel and barking orders into his radio.
Dante turned to Elena. She stepped forward, looking up at him with clear, unblinking eyes.
“You’re going to get him,” she said softly.
“I am,” Dante answered, stepping close enough that his breath warmed her forehead. “And when I return, this war will be finished. You and Lily will never look over your shoulder again. You have my word as a Moretti.”
May you like
Elena reached up, taking the lapels of his jacket, and pulled him down into a fierce, breathless kiss. Dante paused for a fraction of a second in surprise before his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him with a passion that had been building since the moment he saw her stand defiant beneath the chandeliers of the Ashford Grand.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were burning with conviction. “Bring your brother home, Dante. I’ll be waiting right here.”"
