Chapter 17 - The Ninety-Million-Dollar Debt
The man waiting outside the Moretti estate called himself Alexander Varga.
He was not Italian.
He did not belong to any Chicago family.
And he showed no interest in pretending otherwise.
Tall, pale, immaculately dressed, Varga entered the mansion without visible fear.
Dante searched him.
No weapon.
Varga smiled.
“If I intended violence, Mr. Rossi, I would not bring it through the front door.”
Adrien met him in Lorenzo’s study.
Isabella remained beside him.
Varga noticed.
“So the stories are true.”
“What stories?” Isabella asked.
“That Mrs. Moretti is considerably more dangerous than the men around her.”
Adrien did not smile.
“What does Bellini owe you?”
“Ninety million dollars.”
“For?”
“Poor decisions.”
“Try again.”
Varga crossed one leg over the other.
“Our organization financed several of Mr. Bellini’s European investments.”
Adrien understood the careful language.
Varga represented people with money but little patience.
“Why come to me?”
“Because Bellini offered us collateral.”
“What collateral?”
“The Moretti reserve fund.”
Isabella’s expression hardened.
“He doesn’t own it.”
“We know.”
“Then why lend against it?”
“We were shown documentation suggesting Bellini possessed access.”
“The brass key.”
Varga nodded.
Adrien leaned back.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
So Bellini had known about the key long before Victor invaded.
Matteo had probably been searching Lorenzo’s study for months.
The home siege gave him opportunity.
“What happens if Bellini cannot pay?” Adrien asked.
Varga smiled without warmth.
“We are businessmen.”
Adrien looked at him.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Varga’s eyes became cold.
“It was not.”
Isabella interrupted.
“What do you want from us?”
“Nothing.”
Adrien laughed.
“Men like you don’t cross an ocean for nothing.”
“I came to tell you something.”
Varga slid a photograph across the desk.
Stefano Bellini leaving a private airfield outside Milwaukee.
Beside him was Carlo Donati’s older brother, Paolo.
Adrien frowned.
“Paolo has been in Florida for three years.”
“Apparently not.”
Another photograph.
A woman Adrien recognized.
Evelyn Bellini.
Then another.
Dr. Marchetti.
All meeting at the same property.
“Where?”
“A private lodge in Wisconsin.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Adrien stared.
Bellini was consolidating loyalists.
Preparing something.
Varga stood.
“We do not care who controls Chicago.”
“Then why help us?”
“Because chaos delays repayment.”
He buttoned his coat.
“Mr. Bellini has seventy-two hours before our patience becomes expensive.”
After Varga left, Isabella closed the study door.
“I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I.”
“He’s trying to use us.”
“Yes.”
“Are we going to let him?”
Adrien looked at the photographs.
“Only if we use him first.”
They sent the lodge information to Rebecca Shaw.
Federal surveillance confirmed Bellini was there.
But Rebecca refused an immediate raid.
“We need probable cause tied to that location.”
“You have attempted murder witnesses, forged evidence, political corruption—”
“At different locations. I need something connecting this property.”
Adrien hated the answer.
He also understood it.
The old Adrien would have sent twenty men.
Instead, Isabella found another route.
The lodge belonged to a shell corporation.
That corporation had received money from one of the accounts in Lorenzo’s Bellini file.
Rebecca obtained a warrant.
The raid occurred at dawn.
Bellini was gone.
Again.
But investigators found something more important.
A conference room.
Maps of Moretti businesses.
Photographs of Adrien.
Isabella.
Eleanor.
Dante.
Lucian.
And Marcus.
On one wall, a calendar.
Three dates circled.
The next date was tomorrow.
Beside it were two words.
FOUNDERS DINNER.
Adrien knew exactly what that meant.
Every November, Chicago’s old families attended a private dinner commemorating the men who built their organizations.
Adrien had canceled his attendance after the attack.
Bellini apparently had not.
Rebecca stared at the photographs.
“This looks like an operational plan.”
Isabella found a folder.
Inside were seating diagrams for the dinner.
Emergency exits.
Security assignments.
Vehicle routes.
“They’re planning an attack,” she said.
Adrien shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed to the seating chart.
Bellini’s chair sat at the center.
Paolo Donati opposite.
Other family leaders around them.
“If he wanted to attack, he wouldn’t put himself inside.”
“Then what?”
Adrien understood.
“He wants everyone together.”
“For what?”
“To make me the enemy.”
Adrien pointed to a second folder.
Copies of the forged murder records.
Bellini planned to present Adrien as a rogue leader who had violated Commission rules and murdered without authorization.
If the families believed him, they would sanction Adrien’s removal.
Not legally.
Permanently.
Isabella looked at him.
“Then don’t go.”
Adrien stared at the seating chart.
“If I don’t, Bellini controls the story.”
“Adrien.”
He took her hand.
“I’m not going there to kill him.”
“Then why?”
“To make him talk.”
Rebecca Shaw immediately rejected the idea.
Adrien insisted.
Finally she agreed to surveillance under strict conditions.
No Moretti weapons.
No private soldiers inside.
Federal teams surrounding the property.
A controlled recording device.
Isabella looked furious.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
She stared at him.
Adrien immediately reconsidered.
Five years of marriage had taught him at least one survival skill.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
The next night, Adrien and Isabella entered the Founders Dinner together.
Conversation stopped.
At the center of the room, Stefano Bellini slowly stood.
He smiled like a grandfather welcoming family.
“Adrien.”
Adrien returned the smile.
“Stefano.”
Around them sat men who could decide whether Chicago burned.
Bellini lifted his wineglass.
“To truth.”
Adrien sat.
“Careful.”
May you like
His eyes never left Bellini.
“You might finally meet some tonight.”
