Chapter 8 - THE ROSSI SYNDICATE
The low hum of the yacht’s engines was entirely drowned out by the heavy, rhythmic footsteps of Don Rossi’s men marching down the wooden pier.
My blood ran cold.
Rossi was a ghost in Chicago—a man who controlled the rival syndicate with brutal, quiet efficiency. He didn’t make public appearances. If he was here on Pier 42, it meant he wasn't leaving without the ledger, and he wasn't leaving any witnesses.
“You see, Luca?” Vanessa smiled, though her hands were still shaking. “You thought you cornered me. But you just walked into my protection.”
Luca didn’t flinch. He didn’t lower his weapon. He kept his eyes locked on Vanessa.
“Lock the cabin doors, Hannah,” Luca ordered.
I rushed to the sliding glass doors, slammed them shut, and threw the heavy metal deadbolt. I pulled the silk curtains across the glass, plunging the cabin into dim light.
Outside, a megaphone cracked with static.
“Luca Moretti,” Don Rossi’s raspy voice echoed across the water. “I know you’re on the boat. Throw the Bellini girl and the ledger over the railing, and I’ll let you walk back to your car.”
Vanessa let out a sharp gasp, her confident smile vanishing instantly.
“He… he said he would protect me!” she stammered, backing away from the windows.
“He’s a mob boss, Vanessa,” Luca said coldly, tucking the ledger into the back of his belt. “He doesn’t want you. He wants the information you stole.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked, my voice trembling. There were a dozen men out there. We had one handgun.
Luca looked around the luxurious cabin. He spotted a heavy steel access hatch in the floor beneath a Persian rug.
“The engine room,” Luca said. “It connects to the stern. We can slip out the back and take the emergency zodiac raft before they breach the doors.”
He grabbed Vanessa by the arm, hauling her toward the hatch.
“No!” she screamed, fighting against his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you! They’ll shoot us!”
“If you stay up here, Rossi will put a bullet in your head himself,” Luca growled. He shoved her toward the hatch. “Move.”
I ripped the Persian rug back and hauled the heavy steel hatch open. The smell of diesel and hot metal hit my face. I climbed down the steep metal ladder first, the roar of the massive yacht engines deafening in the cramped space.
Vanessa climbed down next, sobbing quietly in terror. Luca followed, pulling the heavy steel hatch shut and locking it from the inside just as the sound of shattering glass echoed from the cabin above.
Rossi’s men had breached the boat.
“Move, move,” Luca pushed us through the narrow, greasy walkway between the massive twin engines.
We reached the small steel door at the back of the engine room. Luca kicked it open.
The cool night air rushed in. We were standing on the narrow swim platform at the absolute rear of the yacht, inches above the dark, churning water. Tied to the railing was a small motorized zodiac raft.
“Get in,” Luca ordered.
I scrambled into the small rubber boat. Luca grabbed Vanessa by the silk of her ruined red gown and practically threw her in beside me.
Luca untied the ropes and jumped in, immediately reaching for the outboard motor cord.
He yanked it. The engine sputtered, then roared to life.
“Hold on!” Luca yelled over the noise.
He threw the throttle open, and the zodiac shot away from the yacht, bouncing violently over the dark waves of Lake Michigan, disappearing into the thick fog.
We rode in terrifying silence for ten minutes, the freezing spray soaking my clothes. Vanessa sat in the bottom of the raft, shivering uncontrollably, her arms wrapped around her knees.
Luca steered us toward an abandoned, overgrown shoreline near a defunct industrial plant, miles away from the docks.
He killed the engine, and the raft slid silently onto the rocky beach.
“Get out,” Luca commanded.
We climbed out onto the muddy shore. Luca grabbed Vanessa by the arm again, dragging her toward the shadows of a rusted storage container.
“I saved your life,” Luca said, slamming Vanessa against the cold steel of the container. His eyes were murderous. “Now you’re going to tell me exactly what Arthur promised Rossi in exchange for this ledger.”
Vanessa gasped for air, terrified. “He… he promised him the judges! The zoning board! Rossi wants to build a casino on the waterfront, but your family owns the permits. Arthur said if Rossi killed you, he would hand over the ledger so Rossi could blackmail the board himself!”
Luca’s jaw clenched. “Where is Arthur now?”
“He’s hiding,” Vanessa sobbed. “He’s at the old Bellini hunting lodge near the Wisconsin border. He was waiting for me to bring the money.”
Luca let go of her, stepping back. He pulled out his phone, shielding the screen from the rain, and dialed a number.
“Who are you calling?” I whispered.
“The Feds,” Luca said flatly.
Vanessa screamed. “No! Luca, please! I’ll disappear! I’ll leave the country!”
“You crossed the line when you put a syringe near my son,” Luca said, pressing the phone to his ear.
Ten minutes later, the wail of police sirens cut through the night. Red and blue lights flashed through the fog.
Luca didn’t wait for them. He grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the shoreline and into the dark, abandoned industrial park, leaving Vanessa weeping on the rocks for the police to find.
We walked for twenty minutes until we reached a main road, where Luca hailed a passing cab.
We sat in the back of the taxi in silence, exhausted, shivering, and soaking wet. Luca rested his head back against the seat, his eyes closed.
I reached out and gently placed my hand over his.
He didn’t pull away. He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with mine, squeezing tightly.
“It’s over,” I whispered.
“Vanessa is going to prison,” Luca agreed softly. “And Arthur will be arrested at the lodge by morning. The boy is safe.”
When we finally returned to the Moretti estate, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden glow over the mansion.
Teresa was waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the large island. Leo was fast asleep in her lap, wrapped in a thick wool blanket.
Luca walked over and kissed his mother’s forehead, then gently kissed the top of his son’s head.
“Michael?” Luca asked quietly.
“He’s out of surgery,” Teresa smiled, tears in her eyes. “The doctor said it missed his vital organs. He’s going to live, Luca.”
The immense weight that had been crushing Luca’s shoulders for the past twelve hours finally lifted. He let out a long, ragged exhale and slumped into a kitchen chair.
I turned to go upstairs, to finally check on my mother in the guest room.
But as I turned, I noticed a small, velvet jewelry box sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I pointed. “What is that?”
Teresa frowned. “I don’t know. It was sitting on the front doorstep when the guards checked the perimeter ten minutes ago.”
Luca frowned. He stood up, walked over to the counter, and opened the velvet box.
Inside was a single, pure white rose.
And tucked beneath the petals was a small, handwritten note.
Luca unfolded the note. I watched the color completely drain from his face for the second time that night.
“What does it say, Luca?” Teresa asked, her voice trembling with renewed fear.
May you like
Luca looked at me, his eyes wide with a terrifying realization.
“It says, ‘Thank you for dealing with the Bellinis. Now, bring the ledger to the warehouse by noon, or we will tell the police who was really driving the car that killed Isabella.’”
