Chapter 5 - Blood on the Boardroom
The message sent a shiver down my spine, but panic was a luxury I could not afford. The Marcone family had been a thorn in Chicago’s side for two decades—ruthless, unprincipled, and notorious for striking at legitimate businesses when their illegal rackets dried up. They thought that by targeting Sterling Logistics, they could simultaneously bankrupt Vincent’s rival and strike at the woman who used to wear the Moretti name.
""Julian, order your dock managers to maintain a complete lockdown on the northern terminals,"" I instructed, my voice cutting through the panic in the executive suite. ""Do not pay a single cent of that ransom. Wire transfers leave a paper trail that legitimizes their extortion claims.""
""Claire, we don't have private armies! We're a legitimate freight firm!"" Julian pleaded, pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor. ""If those men breach the perimeter, our employees could be slaughtered!""
""They won't breach the perimeter,"" I said calmly.
Just then, the glass double doors of Sterling’s executive floor were thrust open. Four heavily armed men in crisp charcoal suits entered the lobby, their hands resting near the holsters hidden beneath their jackets. Walking ahead of them was not Vincent, but Marco, whose stoic face was etched with grim urgency.
""Mrs. Moretti,"" Marco bowed his head with uncharacteristic deference. ""The boss sent us. Anton Marcone has mobilized six crews toward your location. We need to escort you to a secure safehouse immediately.""
Julian stepped forward, indignation flaring on his face. ""Hey! You can't just barge into my corporate offices with armed thugs! I'll call the federal authorities!""
Marco didn't even look at him; his eyes remained locked on me. ""Federal authorities won't stop a car bomb, Mr. Sterling. Mrs. Moretti understands how this city operates.""
I looked at Marco, then at Julian, who was shaking with fear. ""Marco, where is Vincent?""
""The boss went directly to the south terminal,"" Marco replied, his voice tightening. ""Alone.""
My breath seized. ""Alone? Is he insane? Anton Marcone has dozens of men waiting there!""
""The Don told us that this mess was his fault,"" Marco said quietly, his words hanging heavily in the tense boardroom. ""He said if he hadn't let you walk away unprotected, the Marcones never would have made you a target. He ordered the entire syndicate guard to protect you and Miss Lily in Lincoln Park while he met Marcone to negotiate the release of Sterling’s cargo personally.""
A cold dread coiled in my gut. Vincent was a master tactician, but he was also a man driven by pride and a suicidal sense of duty when he realized he had failed. He was offering himself up as a shield to protect the legitimate career I had built after leaving him.
""Take me to Lily first,"" I ordered, grabbing my coat and purse.
""Mrs. Moretti, we can't take you to the docks—"" Marco began.
""Did I say take me to the docks?"" I snapped, a fiery authority ringing in my voice that made even Marco's hardened bodyguards stand taller. ""Lily goes to my mother's residence under your top four snipers. Once she is safe, you and I are driving to the South Chicago terminals.""
""Claire, you can't go there!"" Julian cried out. ""It's a slaughterhouse!""
I turned to Julian, offering him a sad, resolute smile. ""You run companies with contracts and quarterly projections, Julian. But I spent ten years learning how the monsters of this city breathe. If Vincent dies tonight, the Marcones will take your ships, your business, and eventually my life anyway. I'm finishing this.""
Thirty minutes later, after ensuring Lily was wrapped safely in my mother's arms behind bulletproof glass and heavy security, I sat in the backseat of Marco’s armored Cadillac as it tore down the Dan Ryan Expressway toward the industrial wasteland of South Chicago. Rain lashed against the windshield, matching the violent cadence of my racing pulse.
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Vincent thought he had discarded a boring housewife. He had forgotten that for five years, I had quietly managed the logistics that kept his entire empire solvent. I knew every route, every port commissioner, and every skeleton in Anton Marcone’s closet.
If Vincent Moretti thought he was going to die a martyr to ease his guilty conscience, he had another thing coming.
