Chapter 7 - THE ONE-WAY TRAIN TICKET
“You set him up,” Luca said, staring at the Polish attorney in disbelief.
Aleksander stepped into the wrecked kitchen, carefully avoiding the unconscious men on the floor. He set his briefcase on the counter and clicked the brass locks open.
“I didn't set him up, Mr. Moretti,” Aleksander said calmly, pulling out a thick file folder. “I investigated him. For five years.”
Isabella stood up, pulling Leo behind her defensively. “You worked for him! You drafted the papers that stole my company!”
“I drafted the papers to catch him committing federal fraud on paper,” Aleksander corrected, his eyes softening as he looked at Isabella. “I am not a private attorney, Miss Moretti. I work for the Financial Crimes Division of the FBI. My undercover assignment was to dismantle the Bellini crime syndicate.”
The room went dead silent.
I stared at Aleksander, my mind racing. “But you spoke Polish with Vanessa tonight. You told her the plan was working.”
“I told her what she wanted to hear so she would let her guard down,” Aleksander explained. He turned to Luca. “Marcus Bellini is terrified. He knows the FBI is closing in. That wire transfer from the Russians? It was intercepted. The fifty million dollars is sitting in a federal holding account. Marcus doesn't have a dime.”
Luca’s posture instantly shifted. The despair vanished, replaced by the lethal, calculating focus of a predator.
“He’s running,” Luca realized.
“Exactly,” Aleksander nodded. “He’s taking the midnight train to New York to meet a smuggler who will put him on a cargo ship to South America. We have agents waiting at the station, but Marcus is desperate. He has armed men with him.”
Luca grabbed his keys from the table. “I’m not letting the FBI take him. I’m taking him myself.”
“Luca, wait!” Isabella cried, grabbing his arm. “It’s too dangerous. Let the police handle it. We have Leo now. We have everything we need.”
Luca looked at his sister, then down at the fifteen-year-old boy who was clutching Isabella’s hand like a lifeline.
“He stole fifteen years of your life, Bella,” Luca said, his voice thick with raw emotion. “He burned down my father’s factory. He threatened the woman I love.”
Luca stopped, his eyes darting toward me.
My breath caught in my throat.
The woman I love.
He had said it so naturally, so fiercely, in front of everyone. My face flushed hot, and my heart hammered violently against my ribs.
Luca didn't take it back. He looked at me, his dark eyes filled with a promise that made my knees weak.
“Stay here, Natalie,” Luca ordered softly. “Keep my family safe.”
“No,” I said, stepping forward. “I’m coming with you.”
Luca frowned. “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”
“Marcus thinks I’m just a maid,” I argued, my voice shaking but determined. “He won't see me as a threat. And I speak Polish. If he tries to communicate with his foreign smugglers at the station, I can translate.”
Luca stared at me for a long moment. He saw the fire in my eyes, the same stubborn fire my grandmother had possessed.
He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair.
“You are going to be the death of me, Natalie Brooks,” he muttered. He pulled a sleek black handgun from the waistband of his trousers, checked the magazine, and slid it back. “Let’s go.”
We left Isabella, Leo, and my mother at the apartment with Aleksander, who promised to stay and protect them.
Luca drove the armored SUV like a madman through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago. The neon city lights blurred past the windows as we sped toward Union Station.
Inside the massive, vaulted train terminal, the midnight crowds were sparse.
Luca and I moved quickly through the shadows, scanning the platforms. The air smelled of diesel fuel and damp coats.
“There,” Luca whispered, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind a massive marble pillar.
Down at Platform 9, standing near the edge of the tracks, was Marcus Bellini.
He was surrounded by four heavily armed guards. They were talking in hushed, urgent tones.
“He’s waiting for the smuggler to bring his fake passport,” Luca deduced, his eyes narrowing.
Suddenly, a tall man in a dark trench coat approached Marcus. The man handed Marcus a small envelope.
Marcus tore it open, inspected the passport, and then handed the man a thick stack of cash.
The smuggler nodded and said something in a harsh, guttural language.
Luca leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “What did he say?”
I strained to listen. The language wasn't Russian. It was Polish.
“He said, ‘The boat leaves at 2 AM. Do not be late,’” I whispered back.
Marcus smiled, slipping the passport into his coat. He turned to board the train.
“Not today, Marcus,” Luca said.
Luca stepped out from behind the pillar, his gun raised, aimed directly at Marcus’s chest.
The four guards instantly raised their weapons.
People on the platform screamed and scattered, diving for cover.
“Put the guns down,” Luca ordered, his voice echoing over the loud hum of the idling train engine.
Marcus looked back, his arrogant smile returning. “Are you really going to shoot me in a crowded train station, Luca? You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”
“It would be worth it,” Luca said coldly.
“Shoot him,” Marcus ordered his guards.
But before anyone could pull a trigger, a voice rang out from the top of the platform stairs.
“Drop your weapons! FBI!”
Dozens of federal agents swarmed the platform, their tactical rifles aimed at Marcus and his men. Aleksander walked down the steps, wearing a federal badge around his neck.
Marcus’s guards dropped their guns immediately, putting their hands in the air.
Marcus looked around frantically. His empire was gone. His money was gone. And now, his freedom was gone.
May you like
Desperation flashed in his eyes.
In a sudden, violent movement, Marcus lunged forward, grabbed me by the hair, and pulled a hidden silver knife from his sleeve, pressing the blade hard against my throat.
