Chapter 16 - The Vanishing Threat
The honeymoon in Lake Como was supposed to be our sanctuary, a world removed from the siren-soaked nights of Cook County. For two weeks, the Italian alps mirrored in azure water had given Faith and me a glimpse into an unburdened existence. Yet the moment our private Gulfstream touched down on the tarmac at O’Hare International, the cold reality of our former lives settled heavily back over my shoulders like a wet trench coat.
Old Sal was waiting on the tarmac, standing beside our armored Mercedes rather than the classic sedan we usually favored. His face was drawn, etched with deep furrows that had nothing to do with the Midwest humidity.
"Welcome home, Boss. Welcome home, Mrs. Carter," Sal said, nodding respectfully to Faith before taking our luggage. But his eyes flicked constantly to the perimeter fences, his right hand never drifting far from his jacket lining.
"What is it, Sal?" I asked, stepping into the back seat and ensuring Faith was safely settled beside me. "Trouble at the docks?"
"Not the docks, Dominic," Sal replied as he pulled out onto the expressway, checking his rearview mirrors with methodical paranoia. "The state penitentiary at Pontiac. Don Rossi died thirty-six hours ago."
Faith gasped, her hand instinctively finding mine. Her fingers were warm, the platinum and emerald wedding band cool against my skin. "Rossi? Did he have a heart attack?"
"Poison," Sal answered flatly. "Compound arsenic slipped into his evening meal. The coroner ruled it homicide, but the Cook County sheriff's department isn't looking at the inmates. They’re looking outside. And yesterday morning, an anonymous wire transfer routed fifty thousand dollars from a dormant account in Grand Cayman—an account tied to the Carter family’s old maritime holding company—directly into the offshore account of the head prison cook."
The air inside the vehicle tightened until breathing felt laborious. "Someone is reviving the old ghosts," I muttered, my jaw tightening until my back teeth clicked. "They executed Rossi inside maximum security and made it look like a revenge hit from me."
"It gets worse," Sal continued, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "Matteo Rossi’s extradition hearing in Rome was compromised. A team of masked operatives in tactical gear intercepted the convoy outside the Regina Coeli prison two days ago. Four Italian carabineri were gunned down in broad daylight. Matteo is loose. Interpol has red notices out, but our contacts in the port authority say he slipped aboard a cargo vessel bound for the St. Lawrence Seaway. He’s coming back to North America, Dominic. And he believes you arranged the assassination of his brother."
Faith turned to me, her gray eyes flashing with that familiar, stubborn fire that had pulled me out of my wheelchair months ago. "He knows you had nothing to do with it. Matteo isn't a fool. He knows this was an internal power grab."
"Matteo is a butcher with a Swiss bank account," I replied grimly, staring out at the rising skyline of Chicago. "He doesn't care about the truth; he cares about optics. In his world, if your brother dies under a Carter-branded check, blood must answer blood. He will not stop until every foundation we built is ashes."
"We aren't running," Faith stated firmly, leaning into my shoulder. "The Toby Willis Center is hosting its summer benefit in three days. Over four hundred donors, community leaders, and city officials have confirmed. If we cancel, it signals fear. If we run, it proves guilt."
I looked down at her determined face, feeling that same surge of awe that struck me every time she defied the shadows. "I won't let you be bait, Faith."
"I survived Carmine pulling a gun on me at the Velvet Lounge, Dominic," she said softly, her fingers tracing the faded scar on her forearm. "We survived Iron Street together. We take the fight to them on our own terms, under the bright lights of our city."
May you like
As we crossed the Chicago River, the golden sunset bounced off the skyline, but deep in the shadows of the water, a storm was brewing. I unlocked my satellite phone and sent an encrypted ping to Marcus Vance. The war wasn't over. The viper had only shed its skin, and this time, the venom was aimed at my home.
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