Chapter 6
Chapter 6
“They don’t know that Evelyn Cross returned as Chloe Evans,” Lorenzo said, stepping toward her until only inches separated their faces. “And they don’t know that the Capello family does not die behind overturned tables.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The air between them was electric with danger, shared survival, and something deeper that neither dared name while the city burned around their shoulders in the rainy night.
“We need an army, Capello,” she said softly, breaking the spell. “Two people cannot assault the Palmer House ballroom. Victor will have forty men in that room, all armed and looking for anyone who blinks wrong.”
“I don’t need forty men,” Lorenzo replied, his gray eyes catching the streetlight through the blinds. “I only need the three capos who loved my father more than they fear Victor’s money. And I have their names right here.”
He pulled a small silver signet ring from his pocket, the Capello crest engraved into black onyx. “My father gave this to me when I took over. When those capos see this ring, they will remember their oaths.”
By dawn, the rain had settled into a sullen, gray mist that blanketed the streets. Chloe had changed into dark tactical denim and a wool coat, her hair tied back into the low, efficient braid she favored.
Lorenzo made three calls from a payphone three blocks away, speaking in low Sicilian dialects that Vance’s wiretaps could never decipher in time. With each call, his face grew harder, more resolute, more kingly.
“The docks belong to us again,” he reported, hanging up the receiver with a heavy clatter. “Marco and Silvano are moving their crews into the loop. They were waiting for a sign that I hadn’t died at The Sovereign.”
“And the federal side?” Chloe asked, adjusting the strap of Daniel’s heavy duffel bag over her shoulder. “Vance has the FBI field office locked down. If we walk in, he’ll claim we’re terrorists and shoot on sight.”
“Then we don’t walk into the FBI,” Chloe said, pulling a second drive from Daniel’s strongbox. “Daniel had an old friend in the Department of Justice. The only man Vance could never buy because he had no family to threaten.”
“Deputy Director Hayes,” Lorenzo recognized the name from his father’s old ledger. “The bulldog from Washington. He’s in Chicago this week auditing the port task force. If we hand him this ledger, Vance is done.”
They met Hayes in the back of an all-night diner near Greek Town. The old prosecutor sat with a cup of black coffee, his sharp eyes widening as Chloe slid Daniel’s badge and the ledger across the booth.
“Daniel Cross died eight years ago,” Hayes said, his voice trembling as he touched the rusted metal badge. “And his sister was reported drowned in the harbor. Where did you get this ledger, young woman?”
“I didn’t drown, Director,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “Marcus Vance sold my brother for three million dollars and a penthouse on Lake Shore Drive. And Victor Capello paid for the execution with mob funds.”
Hayes looked from Chloe to Lorenzo, his mouth tightening into a thin, furious line. “You’re Lorenzo Capello. Every cop in Cook County is looking for your corpse or your car. Why should I believe you?”
“Because my father wrote every dollar of it down,” Lorenzo said, pointing to the aged ink. “And because tonight at eight o’clock, Vance will accept the final payment inside the Palmer House grand ballroom from Victor.”
Hayes was silent for thirty seconds, the diner’s neon sign buzzing above their heads. He pulled a secure phone from his overcoat and dialed a four-digit extension that bypassed every local switchboard in Illinois.
“Mobilize the federal tactical team from Milwaukee,” Hayes ordered quietly. “Not Chicago. Milwaukee. Seal the perimeter of the Palmer House at seven forty-five. We are arresting the head of the Chicago field office.”
Outside the diner, the gray clouds began to part, revealing a cold, blue winter sky. Lorenzo walked beside Chloe toward the sedan that Silvano’s men had left for them behind an abandoned warehouse on Halsted Street.
“It’s almost over, Evelyn,” Lorenzo said, using her true name for the first time without hesitation. It sounded strange on his lips, yet heavier, like a crown she had spent nearly a decade running from in the dark.
“It isn’t over until Victor answers for Daniel,” she replied, checking the action on the heavy semi-automatic in her lap. “Men like him don’t go to prison, Lorenzo. They find loopholes, or they buy judges.”
“He won’t buy a judge tonight,” Lorenzo said, starting the engine. “The Capello family settles its own accounts. You take Vance. You give your brother his justice. Victor belongs to the family he betrayed.”
May you like
By seven o’clock, the city’s heart had slowed beneath a blanket of evening frost. The Palmer House glowed with warm chandeliers, its marble lobby filled with dignitaries, politicians, and the upper crust of Chicago’s underworld.
—END OF Chapter 6,
