Chapter 3 - The Underworld Closing In
Three days passed in an agonizing blur of paranoia and high alert. I packed our bags, contacted our trusted private security detail, and prepared to catch an early morning flight out of O’Hare to a secure safehouse property in Zurich.
I knew Vincent. I knew that his initial shock and remorse would inevitably curdle back into the obsessive, possessive control that defined his syndicate rule. A Moretti never lost what belonged to him—and whether he deserved us or not, Vincent viewed Lily as his blood, and therefore his property.
I was standing in the master bedroom zipping up a suitcase when my private burner phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.
It was an unknown encrypted number.
I swiped and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Moretti,” a low, unfamiliar voice rasped through the speaker. It wasn't Vincent. It sounded harsher, carrying the cold, calculating menace of a rival faction. “I believe you’ll find it very difficult to catch your flight to Europe tomorrow morning.”
My blood ran cold. “Who is this? What do you want?”
“We want what your husband has been hoarding. For years, Vincent Moretti has kept the ledger of the port authority payoffs locked inside his private downtown vault, shielded by your family’s old trust charters. But now that he’s distracted by finding his long-lost wife and daughter, his defenses are slipping.”
“I don't care about Vincent’s vaults or his syndicates!” I shouted into the phone. “Leave us alone!”
“Oh, we intend to leave you alone—right after we use your precious little girl to force Vincent into signing over his entire shipping terminal network to the Vescari family.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Panic exploded through my veins like liquid fire. I dropped the phone, bolted out of the bedroom, and sprinted down the hallway toward Lily’s room.
“Lily!” I screamed, throwing the door open.
The room was empty. The window was slid wide open, letting in the cold autumn wind, and resting on the white duvet was a small, familiar stuffed rabbit my mother had given her before she passed away.
They had taken her.
Within ten minutes, I had bypassed my own security team and was dialing Vincent’s private emergency satellite line with shaking fingers. He answered on the first ring, his voice sharp and alert.
“Claire? Did you change your mind? Are you safe?”
“They have her, Vincent!” I screamed, tears blinding my vision as I ran out to my car. “The Vescari faction! They took Lily from her bedroom! They said they’re using her to force you to sign over the port terminals!”
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A terrifying, dead silence hung on the other end of the line for exactly two seconds. When Vincent spoke again, his voice had completely shed its human warmth, replaced by the chilling, bloodthirsty warlord who ruled the Chicago underworld with an iron fist.
“Get in your car, Claire,” Vincent commanded, his tone dropping into a lethal register. “Lock your doors, stay on the line with me, and drive straight to the old North Quay shipping yards. Nobody touches my daughter and lives to draw another breath.”
