Chapter 8 - THE LEDGER IN THE MAUSOLEUM
The black SUV tore through the empty streets of Chicago at ninety miles an hour.
I sat in the passenger seat, clutching Maya’s silver rosary in my blood-stained hands, praying to a God I hadn’t spoken to in years. In the back seat, Luca sat in stony silence, checking the magazine of his handgun. Beside him, Leo stared out the window, his jaw clenched, a boy suddenly thrust into a war he never asked for.
Vanessa had been locked in the estate’s holding cell. She was a liability. The cartel wanted the ledger, and we finally had the map to find it.
“Turn right on 47th,” Luca ordered Daniel, who was driving the SUV with tactical precision.
The coordinates carved into the back of Leo’s baby bracelet didn’t lead to a bank vault or a safety deposit box. They led to a place Dominic Moretti knew the cartel would never dare desecrate.
Saint Jude’s Catholic Cemetery.
The heavy iron gates were chained shut. Daniel didn’t slow down. The reinforced steel bumper of the SUV smashed through the chains, sending iron links flying into the darkness.
We sped down the narrow gravel paths, flanked by rows of silent, towering headstones. The fog was thick, rolling off Lake Michigan and clinging to the cold ground.
“Stop here,” Luca commanded.
The SUV skidded to a halt in front of a massive, black marble mausoleum.
The name carved above the heavy stone doors sent a chill down my spine.
MORETTI.
“My family’s crypt,” Luca said softly. He stepped out of the vehicle, his gun drawn. “My father bought it thirty years ago. Dominic knew the cartel wouldn’t search a mafia family’s private tomb.”
I scrambled out of the car, ignoring the sharp, tearing pain in my side. Every second wasted was a second closer to the cartel’s deadline. It was 1:15 AM. We had forty-five minutes to find the ledger and make the trade at the docks.
Luca approached the heavy stone doors. The brass padlock was rusted, untouched for seventeen years. Luca didn’t bother with a key. He raised his gun and fired a single shot, blowing the lock into jagged pieces.
He pushed the heavy doors open.
The air inside was stale and freezing. The crypt was lined with stone sarcophagi, resting places for generations of Morettis.
“Where did he hide it?” I asked, my voice echoing in the hollow chamber.
Luca walked down the center aisle, shining a tactical flashlight across the marble walls. He stopped in front of an empty alcove at the very back of the mausoleum.
The plaque above the alcove read: DOMINIC MORETTI.
It was the tomb Vincenzo had prepared for his eldest son. The tomb Dominic knew he would never occupy.
Luca holstered his gun and wedged his fingers under the heavy marble lid of the empty sarcophagus. He strained, the muscles in his back pulling tight beneath his suit, and shoved the lid sideways with a loud, grinding scrape.
I stepped forward, shining my phone’s flashlight into the dark stone box.
It wasn’t empty.
Resting at the bottom of the sarcophagus was a heavy, waterproof steel lockbox.
Luca reached in and pulled it out. He slammed it onto the marble lid and popped the latches.
Inside lay a thick, leather-bound notebook.
The ledger.
I let out a breathless sob of relief. “We have it. We can save her.”
Luca opened the notebook. He flipped through the pages, his flashlight illuminating lists of names, dates, offshore account numbers, and political bribes. It was enough to bring down half the corrupt officials in the Midwest, and dismantle the cartel’s financial network entirely.
“It’s all here,” Luca said, his voice tight. “Everything Dominic stole.”
He closed the book and looked at me. The cold, calculated mafia boss softened for a fraction of a second. “We’re getting your daughter back, Caroline.”
Before I could thank him, a blinding spotlight flooded the mausoleum, cutting through the fog outside and washing the crypt in harsh, white light.
“Drop the book, Moretti!” a voice boomed from the darkness outside.
I froze.
Luca instantly shoved me behind the heavy marble sarcophagus. “Get down!”
He peeked around the stone pillar.
Three black SUVs had silently pulled into the cemetery, blocking our only exit. Ten heavily armed men in tactical gear stood in the spotlight, their assault rifles aimed directly at the crypt doors.
But they weren’t cartel soldiers.
Standing in the center of the armed men, wearing a pristine tailored suit, was Dr. Harris. The estate’s private physician.
The man who had stitched my side just hours ago.
“Harris?” Luca shouted over the idling engines. “What the hell are you doing?”
Dr. Harris smiled, a cold, corporate smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m collecting my retirement fund, Luca.”
My mind spun. The doctor? Why was the doctor here?
“You work for the cartel?” Luca demanded, raising his weapon.
“I work for whoever pays the most,” Dr. Harris yelled back. “Seventeen years ago, I delivered Vanessa’s baby. She paid me to keep quiet. But when the cartel came looking for Dominic, they paid me more to tell them where he was heading.”
I gasped, covering my mouth. Dr. Harris was the one who betrayed Dominic. He was the reason Dominic was executed at Union Station.
“I’ve spent seventeen years waiting for Vanessa to make a mistake so I could find this ledger,” Dr. Harris continued, his voice dripping with arrogance. “And tonight, she did. She brought the boy back. You did the hard work for me, Luca. Now hand over the book, and I might let the maid live.”
“Where is my daughter?!” I screamed, stepping out from behind the marble tomb despite Luca’s warning grab.
Dr. Harris looked at me, genuinely amused.
“Your daughter?” he laughed. “The cartel doesn’t have your daughter, Caroline. I do.”
He snapped his fingers.
One of the armed men opened the back door of the center SUV.
He pulled out a small, terrified figure.
It was Maya.
Her hands were bound, tears streaming down her dirty face. “Mom!” she screamed, struggling against the guard’s grip.
“Maya!” I sobbed, surging forward.
Luca grabbed me by the waist, hauling me back behind the stone. “Don’t move. They’ll shoot her.”
Dr. Harris pulled a pistol from his coat and pressed it against Maya’s temple.
“The book, Luca,” Dr. Harris said softly, his voice echoing in the graveyard. “Or the little girl joins your brother in the crypt.”
I looked at Luca. I was entirely broken. I had fought so hard, but I was just a maid against an army.
Luca looked at the ledger in his hands. Then he looked at Leo, who was trembling in the shadows at the back of the crypt.
Luca didn’t hesitate. He stepped out from behind the stone, holding the ledger high in the air.
“Let the girl walk to her mother,” Luca commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. “And the book is yours.”
Dr. Harris smiled. He nodded to the guard.
The guard shoved Maya forward.
But as Maya stumbled toward the crypt, something glinted in the headlights of Dr. Harris’s SUV.
It wasn’t a gun. It was a massive, silver grill.
A semi-truck, its headlights completely off, silently rolled through the destroyed iron gates of the cemetery.
And sitting in the driver’s seat was the one person Dr. Harris had forgotten about.
May you like
Vincenzo Moretti.
TITLE: THE PATRIARCH’S FINAL RIDE
