Chapter 6 - The Grandfather’s Watch and the Safehouse
The silence inside the armored SUV was suffocating.
“The locket?” I repeated, my mind racing back to the scratched silver teardrop hanging around Lorenzo’s neck. “You put four hundred million dollars inside a piece of jewelry?”
“It’s a micro-encrypted flash drive disguised as a locket,” my grandfather explained, his old hands shaking as he held his own pocket watch. “Nineteen years ago, when Lorenzo cornered me in the alley, I knew he was going to kill me. So I made a gamble. I handed him the locket and told him it was a sentimental family heirloom. I begged him to spare me for my granddaughter’s sake.”
Adrian stared at Frank in disbelief. “You gave the key to the syndicate’s entire fortune to the man who kidnapped my father?”
“It was the safest place in the world for it!” Frank argued defensively. “Lorenzo thought it was just cheap silver! He wore it every day as a trophy of his own mercy. If Vittoria ever searched for the decryption key, the last place she would look is around the neck of her own brother-in-law!”
“But Lorenzo knows now,” Matteo said, his voice grave. “When Nora opened the safe and we found Isabella’s confession letter instead of the bonds, Lorenzo realized the money was never in the vault. He’s putting the pieces together. If he cracks that locket open and accesses the drive, he can wire the money anywhere in the world.”
“And Vittoria’s clean-up crew is tracking him,” Adrian realized, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the GPS screen in Frank’s hand. “If Vittoria gets her hands on that locket, she won’t just control the syndicate. She’ll have the capital to wage a war that will tear Chicago apart. She’ll hunt us down until we’re all dead.”
Isabella killed the SUV’s engine, plunging us into total darkness amid the towering, rusted shipping containers of the waterfront.
“We have to intercept Lorenzo before Vittoria’s men do,” Isabella said, checking the chamber of her silver revolver.
“No,” Adrian commanded, his voice taking on the unquestionable authority of a mafia boss. “You are taking Sofia and Matteo, and you are getting out of the city. There’s a private airstrip in Gary, Indiana. I have a pilot on retainer. You take the jet and disappear.”
“I’m not leaving you again!” Isabella cried, reaching back to grab Adrian’s hand. “I just got you back!”
“You got me back so I could finish this,” Adrian said softly, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before turning to stone. “Vittoria tried to poison me. She tried to shoot my sister. She stole my father’s life. I am going to the safehouse, and I am going to take back what belongs to this family.”
He turned to my grandfather. “Frank, you’re driving them to the airstrip.”
“Like hell I am,” Frank Bell said, his voice surprisingly firm for an eighty-one-year-old man. “I’ve spent nineteen years running from Vittoria Moretti. I’m tired of running, Adrian. I’m going with you.”
“You’ll slow me down,” Adrian said bluntly.
“I know the security codes to the safehouse,” Frank countered. “You don’t.”
Adrian locked eyes with my grandfather, a silent battle of wills between the young mob boss and the elderly driver. Finally, Adrian gave a curt nod.
He turned to me. “Nora, you go with Isabella and Sofia.”
“No,” I said immediately.
Adrian frowned. “This isn’t a negotiation, Nora. You’re a waitress. You’ve already done more than enough. Go home.”
“I don’t have a home to go to!” I snapped, my adrenaline masking my terror. “Vittoria saw my name tag! She knows exactly who I am. If she has cops on her payroll, my apartment is already compromised. The only way my grandfather and I survive this night is if Vittoria is taken down for good.”
Adrian stared at me. He looked at my soot-stained uniform, my messy hair, and the fierce, unyielding determination in my eyes.
“You’re stubborn,” Adrian murmured.
“I’m broke and I’m pissed off,” I corrected. “Let’s go get your money.”
Adrian let out a dark chuckle. He opened the heavy armored door of the SUV and stepped out into the biting wind coming off Lake Michigan. Frank and I followed him.
Isabella rolled down the window, tears in her eyes. “Adrian. Please be careful.”
“Keep Sofia safe,” Adrian said. “I’ll find you when it’s done.”
We watched the SUV disappear into the night, leaving the three of us alone on the desolate docks.
“Where is the safehouse, Frank?” Adrian asked, pulling a sleek, matte-black handgun from an ankle holster I didn’t even know he was wearing.
“Pier 44,” Frank said, pointing toward a massive, rusted warehouse at the end of the shipyard. “It’s an old fishing cannery. We reinforced the steel doors and set up a panic room inside.”
We moved quickly and silently through the labyrinth of shipping containers. The wind howled off the lake, masking the sound of our footsteps.
As we approached Pier 44, my heart sank.
The heavy steel doors of the cannery were blown wide open. Smoke billowed from the entrance, and the smell of sulfur and fresh blood hung thick in the air.
Vittoria’s clean-up crew had already arrived.
Adrian held up a fist, signaling us to stop. He pressed himself against the rusted corrugated metal of the exterior wall, creeping toward the open doorway. I stayed right behind him, my grandfather covering our rear with a small, snub-nosed revolver he had pulled from his coat.
Adrian peeked inside.
The interior of the cannery was massive and dimly lit by flickering emergency bulbs.
Lying on the concrete floor were three men dressed in tactical black gear. Vittoria’s hit squad. All three were dead, surrounded by a pool of blood.
And kneeling in the center of the room, clutching a bloody shoulder, was Lorenzo.
He was holding a small laptop, a cable connecting it to the open silver locket on his chest.
“He’s downloading the decryption key,” Adrian whispered, his eyes narrowing.
Adrian stepped into the cannery, raising his gun. “Step away from the laptop, Uncle.”
Lorenzo looked up, his face pale and sweating profusely from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. He laughed, a wet, hacking sound.
“You’re too late, Adrian,” Lorenzo smiled, his teeth stained with blood. “The transfer is complete. The four hundred million is in a ghost account. And I’m the only one who knows the routing number.”
Before Adrian could pull the trigger, a voice echoed from the dark catwalk above us.
“Good job, Lorenzo. I’ll take it from here.”
We all looked up.
Standing on the metal grated catwalk, holding a high-powered sniper rifle, was the traitorous security guard from the restaurant.
The one Lorenzo had supposedly shot three times in the chest.
May you like
He pulled off his Kevlar vest and tossed it over the railing.
“Surprise,” the guard smirked, aiming the rifle directly at Adrian. “You didn’t really think Lorenzo was acting alone, did you?”
