Chapter 9 - Blood Feud on the Gold Coast
Vanessa let out a low, ragged laugh that sounded completely unhinged.
She pulled herself up from the floor, leaning heavily against the teak bar. Her expensive silk blouse was stained, her diamond necklace hanging crookedly across her collarbone.
“You think this is over, Luca?” she sneered, her eyes glittering with manic hatred. “You think you won because your little peasant nurse pumped you full of sugar?”
Luca didn't answer. He handed his rifle to Dante, who stepped into the salon with his arm in a makeshift sling, his face grim and pale.
Luca walked over to the bar, poured two fingers of vintage Scotch into a crystal glass, and turned to face his former fiancée.
“Where is Salvatore Valenti?” Luca asked.
Vanessa smiled—a cruel, sharp baring of teeth. “He’s not in Geneva, Luca. He never was. That photo was taken three years ago. Salvatore has been sitting in a penthouse at the Drake Hotel on Michigan Avenue for the last four hours, waiting for my confirmation call.”
Luca’s expression didn't change, but Dante stiffened behind him.
“The Drake?” Dante murmured. “That’s our territory. He walked right into the Gold Coast?”
“He didn't walk in,” Vanessa laughed, her voice climbing higher. “He was invited. By the police commissioner. By the port authority board. By everyone who was tired of dealing with the stubborn, arrogant Moretti dynasty. While you were playing war at the docks, Salvatore’s crews took over the West Side distribution hubs. The entire city has flipped, Luca! You have no territory left! You’re king of an empty penthouse and a graveyard!”
Luca took a slow sip of the Scotch. He didn't look worried. He looked almost bored.
“Dante,” Luca said.
“Yes, boss.”
“Call the Drake.”
Dante pulled a satellite phone from his coat, punched a speed-dial number, and held the phone up to his ear.
He pressed the speaker button.
The phone rang twice. Then a raspy, cultivated voice answered: *“Speak.”*
It was Salvatore Valenti.
Vanessa’s eyes lit up with triumph. “Salvatore! It’s Vanessa! They found the yacht, but Luca is weak—he’s falling apart! Send the tactical unit to the Calumet pier now!”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
Then came a deep sigh.
*“Vanessa,”* the voice of the New York patriarch spoke, cold and completely detached. *“You were supposed to deliver an incapacitated man who could sign over power of attorney. Instead, you delivered three dead hitmen in his hallway, a compromised plastic surgeon, and a full-scale federal investigation on Lake Shore Drive.”*
Vanessa froze. “Salvatore... what are you talking about?”
*“Twenty minutes ago,”* Salvatore continued calmly, *“a courier delivered a sealed forensic packet to the regional director of the FBI in Chicago. Complete blood work. Chain-of-custody documentation. Affidavits signed by a licensed trauma nurse detailing attempted homicide via synthetic insulin administration.”*
Vanessa whipped her head around, her eyes widening in horror as she looked at me.
“The vial,” I said quietly. “The one I drew before the lights went out. I gave it to Dante’s runner while you were running through the solarium.”
*“The Moretti family is a criminal syndicate, Vanessa,”* Salvatore’s voice echoed through the speaker. *“We settle things with guns and cash. We do not get dragged into federal indictments for biological poisoning and attempted assassination of corporate executives. You have become a liability. The contract is void.”*
“Salvatore, wait! Please!” Vanessa screamed, lunging toward the phone.
*Click.*
The line went dead.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Vanessa dropped the phone onto the carpet. Her hands shook violently. She looked at Luca, her eyes filling with desperate, pathetic tears.
“Luca... please,” she whimpered, falling to her knees on the plush white rug. “I was forced. Salvatore threatened my family in Palermo. He said he would butcher my sisters if I didn't cooperate! You know I love you! Everything we built together—you can’t throw it away!”
Luca looked down at her.
There was no anger in his eyes. No sadness. Only the terrifying, absolute finality of a judge who had already passed sentence.
“You’re right, Vanessa,” Luca said softly. “I can’t throw it away.”
He turned his back on her and looked at Dante.
“Put her on the yacht,” Luca commanded. “Strip her of all communication devices. Hand her over to the federal agents waiting at the Coast Guard station at Navy Pier. Let her spend the rest of her life in a federal penitentiary explaining to Salvatore Valenti’s prosecutors why she failed.”
“No!” Vanessa shrieked, clawing at Dante’s trousers as the giant enforcer hauled her to her feet. “Not prison! Luca, kill me! Put a bullet in me! Don’t send me to them!”
May you like
Her screams echoed down the corridor of the yacht as Dante dragged her out into the freezing night, her designer shoes dragging along the deck until the heavy steel door slammed shut.
***
