Chapter 6
The flash drive contained 2,413 files.
Michael Davies had not merely copied a ledger.
He had copied an empire.
Emily spent fourteen hours reconstructing it.
Dante had converted the estate's library into an operations room. Three laptops covered the long oak table. Printed spreadsheets spread across the carpet. Tommy came and went with coffee, food, and increasingly concerned expressions.
Emily barely noticed.
Numbers were her language.
And her father had left her a message written entirely in them.
At first, the files appeared to document routine freight shipments.
Container numbers.
Weights.
Routes.
Drivers.
Invoices.
But invoice totals repeatedly failed to match recorded cargo weights.
Emily created a reconciliation model.
Then another.
By midnight, patterns emerged.
“This isn't just smuggling.”
Dante looked up.
“What is it?”
“Money laundering through municipal infrastructure contracts.”
She rotated the laptop.
“Lakeview transported legitimate construction materials for city projects. But someone inflated shipment weights by twelve to eighteen percent. The city paid for material that never existed.”
Dante studied the numbers.
“The difference was kicked back.”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
Emily opened another sheet.
“That's the problem. My father encoded the recipients.”
Dante leaned closer.
Three-letter identifiers filled the column.
JCR.
MHP.
AG.
GVM.
Emily pointed.
“GVM is Giovanni Marino.”
Dante nodded.
“AG is Anthony Greco.”
“Yes.”
“JCR?”
“Unknown.”
They worked until 2:00 a.m.
Then Emily found the photograph.
It had been scanned from a Polaroid.
Four men stood outside a warehouse.
Giovanni Marino.
Anthony Greco.
A younger Carlo Moretti.
And a man Emily did not recognize.
Dante did.
His face changed instantly.
“Jesus.”
“Who?”
“Judge Jonathan Rourke.”
Emily stared at him.
Rourke was now chief justice of the Illinois Appellate Court.
“JCR.”
“Yes.”
A cold understanding spread through the room.
Michael Davies had possessed evidence connecting a sitting judge to organized crime for seventeen years.
Dante opened another file.
Police payments.
Prosecutorial bribes.
Construction fraud.
Names that had risen steadily through Chicago's institutions.
Emily sat back.
“This could destroy dozens of people.”
“It could destroy my organization.”
She looked at him.
Dante's expression was unreadable.
“If this becomes public, half the Marino Corporation's legitimate holdings could be seized.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
He closed the laptop.
“Your father died because he tried to keep this evidence alive. I'm not burying it again to protect money.”
Emily studied him.
“You'd dismantle your father's empire?”
“My father's empire already killed enough people.”
Before Emily could respond, Tommy entered.
He looked grim.
“We found Anthony Greco.”
Dante stood.
“Where?”
“Dead.”
Silence.
“Body was pulled from the Chicago River an hour ago. Two rounds to the chest. One to the head.”
Emily's stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Medical examiner estimates sometime this afternoon.”
Dante looked at the drive.
Someone was cleaning the board.
“Anything on him?”
“Wallet. Cash. Burner phone smashed beyond recovery.”
Tommy hesitated.
“And a photograph.”
“Of?”
“Emily.”
Dante's face hardened.
Tommy placed an evidence bag on the table.
Inside was a photograph of Emily leaving Oakridge.
A red X had been drawn over her face.
Dante became very quiet.
Emily knew that silence.
It was the silence that came before violence.
“Dante.”
He reached for his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“To speak with Carlo.”
“You don't know Carlo killed Greco.”
“No.”
“Then don't behave as though you do.”
Dante turned.
“Someone marked your photograph for death.”
“Yes, and shooting the first suspect you dislike is not an investigation.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
She stood.
“You told me you would give me the truth. That means we find the truth. Not the most emotionally satisfying corpse.”
Tommy abruptly became fascinated by the wall.
Dante stared at her.
Then he slowly removed his hand from his jacket.
“You are becoming alarmingly comfortable telling me what to do.”
“You paid for my brother's therapy. Consider it premium administrative service.”
Tommy coughed to hide a laugh.
Dante looked at him.
Tommy stopped breathing.
Emily pointed toward the photograph.
“Greco visited Leo this morning. Hours later he's dead. Why?”
“He knew something.”
“Exactly. Somebody realized he had resurfaced.”
Dante's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Put him through.”
A man's voice filled the speaker.
Carlo Moretti.
“Dante.”
“Carlo.”
“You and I have a problem.”
“You became my problem when your men entered Emily's apartment.”
“They weren't my men.”
Dante's eyes went cold.
Emily looked at him sharply.
Carlo continued.
“I assumed they were until this afternoon. Somebody used two idiots from one of my crews. Paid them cash. Told them the order came from me.”
“Convenient.”
“You think I'd send two amateurs after the woman you nearly started a war over?”
Carlo gave a humorless laugh.
“If I wanted her dead, Dante, she would not have opened her apartment door.”
Emily disliked the accuracy of that statement.
“What do you want?” Dante asked.
“Anthony Greco is dead.”
“We know.”
“He called me yesterday.”
Dante looked at Emily.
“What did he say?”
“That the old accounts were opening again.”
“What accounts?”
“He wouldn't explain. He wanted five hundred thousand dollars and safe passage out of Chicago.”
“Why call you?”
“Because he said your father betrayed him.”
Dante became still.
Carlo continued.
“He also said Clara Marino was never supposed to be in that car.”
Every muscle in Dante's body tightened.
Emily reached for his hand beneath the table.
He let her take it.
“What did he mean?” Dante asked.
“I don't know. He was paranoid. Kept talking about Rourke.”
Emily and Dante looked at each other.
Judge Jonathan Rourke.
“Where are you?” Dante asked.
“My restaurant.”
“Stay there.”
Carlo laughed.
“Wasn't planning on taking a stroll.”
The line disconnected.
Dante immediately called his security team.
“Get surveillance on Rourke. Quietly.”
Emily reopened the files.
“JCR appears 318 times.”
Dante stood behind her.
“Find the last entry.”
She sorted by date.
The final payment occurred two days before her parents died.
Amount: $250,000.
Description: INSURANCE.
Emily frowned.
“Insurance against what?”
Dante looked at the next line.
GVM — FINAL DELIVERY REQUIRED.
Then:
M.D. REFUSED.
JCR AUTHORIZED CONTINGENCY.
Emily's blood chilled.
“Rourke authorized something.”
“Yes.”
“What does contingency mean?”
Dante's expression told her he already knew.
“In my father's terminology?”
“Yes.”
“A contingency was what happened when negotiation failed.”
Emily stared at him.
“An execution.”
Dante nodded.
Her stomach turned.
“So Rourke ordered my parents killed?”
“Possibly.”
“Why would a judge have authority over your father?”
“He shouldn't.”
That was the part bothering Dante.
Giovanni Marino had taken orders from no one.
Yet the ledger implied otherwise.
Tommy's phone rang.
He answered.
“Yeah?”
His face changed.
“Boss.”
Dante turned.
“Rourke's moving.”
“Where?”
“O'Hare.”
Emily stood.
“He's leaving Chicago.”
Tommy listened.
“Private terminal. Gulfstream fueled for Montreal.”
Dante reached for his jacket again.
This time Emily didn't stop him.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“Absolutely not.”
“He knows why my parents died.”
“And that makes him the most dangerous man in Chicago to you.”
“It also makes me the person most likely to recognize what he's lying about.”
Dante stared at her.
Emily folded her arms.
“You can waste ten minutes arguing or accept that I am already getting my coat.”
A tiny, furious smile touched his mouth.
“You are impossible.”
“You hired me.”
Twenty-seven minutes later, three Marino SUVs entered the private aviation terminal.
Rourke's Gulfstream remained on the tarmac.
Its engines were running.
Dante's men surrounded the hangar.
The aircraft door opened.
Judge Jonathan Rourke descended slowly.
Seventy-two.
Silver-haired.
Immaculate overcoat.
He looked less like a fugitive than a man arriving for dinner at a country club.
His gaze moved from Dante to Emily.
Recognition appeared immediately.
“Michael's daughter.”
Emily's heart stopped.
“You knew my father.”
Rourke smiled sadly.
“Your father was the bravest fool I ever met.”
Dante stepped forward.
“Did you kill him?”
Rourke looked at Dante.
“No.”
“Did my father?”
“No.”
Emily stared.
“Then who did?”
Rourke's expression changed.
Fear.
Not fear of Dante.
Fear of someone else.
“Your father discovered that Giovanni Marino was not running Chicago.”
Dante went still.
Rourke looked toward the dark runway.
“None of us were.”
“Who was?” Emily asked.
Rourke swallowed.
“The person who killed your parents.”
He looked at Dante.
“And your wife.”
A suppressed shot cracked through the night.
Rourke jerked.
Blood blossomed across his chest.
Dante grabbed Emily and threw her behind an SUV.
More shots struck the vehicle.
His men opened fire toward the terminal roof.
Chaos erupted.
Emily pressed herself against the pavement.
Rourke lay ten feet away.
Still alive.
Barely.
She crawled toward him.
Dante caught her ankle.
“Emily!”
“He knows!”
She tore free.
Rourke's mouth moved.
Emily leaned close.
“Who?”
Blood filled the corner of his lips.
He whispered two words.
Emily stared at him.
Then Rourke died.
Dante reached them.
“What did he say?”
Emily looked up.
She had never seen Dante afraid before.
Now she understood why.
Because Rourke's final words had named someone who had been standing beside Dante for most of his life.
“He said…”
Emily swallowed.
“Thomas Marino.”
Dante's uncle.
The man who had helped raise him after his mother died.
May you like
The man who had served as consigliere to Giovanni.
And the man currently sitting inside Dante's Lake Forest estate with Leo.
