Chapter 6 - Blood Does Not Mean LoyaltyFor several seconds, nobody moved.
The underground tunnel seemed to shrink around them.
Mia stood behind Enzo, watching Carlo Moretti.
She had seen his photograph in newspapers.
Businessman.
Philanthropist.
Chairman of the Moretti Foundation.
He appeared at hospitals with enormous checks and at charity galas beside governors.
He looked nothing like a traitor.
That, Mia realized, was probably the point.
Enzo’s pistol remained aimed at his uncle.
“Explain.”
Carlo sighed.
“You always were impatient.”
“You have six men pointing guns at me.”
“Insurance.”
“Against your own nephew?”
Carlo smiled.
“Against misunderstanding.”
Matteo moved slightly.
Two rifles immediately shifted toward him.
Carlo shook his head.
“Don’t, Matteo.”
Matteo froze.
Mia whispered to Enzo, “You trust him?”
“Once.”
Carlo heard.
“That sounds dramatic.”
“You knew about Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he survived.”
“For a while.”
Enzo’s voice became lethal.
“And you never told me.”
“I didn’t know whether you could be trusted.”
The statement almost made Mia laugh.
Carlo continued.
“Your father built an empire based on loyalty and fear. After he died, you inherited both without understanding how many people wanted the throne.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To stop you from finding something that will start a war you cannot win.”
“We’re already at war.”
“Not this war.”
Carlo looked at Mia.
“Dr. Katherine, your father was not innocent.”
“I know.”
“But he was brave.”
That hurt more than she expected.
“He discovered a network much larger than Sergei Volkov.”
Enzo lowered the pistol slightly.
“How large?”
“Politicians. Judges. Police commanders. Port officials. Men inside your organization. Men inside the Bratva.”
“A coalition?”
“A business arrangement.”
Carlo leaned against the damp brick wall.
“Crime is not tribal anymore, Lorenzo. Italians versus Russians. Irish versus Serbians. Those days are romantic nonsense. Money does not care what language you speak.”
Matteo said, “And Marcus found the accounts.”
“Yes.”
“The ledger?”
Carlo nodded.
“The ledger contains names and payment schedules. Enough to destroy half of Chicago’s criminal economy and embarrass several legitimate institutions.”
Mia looked at the brass key in Enzo’s hand.
“And you know where it is.”
“No.”
“Then how did you know we were here?”
Carlo’s gaze shifted.
“Samuel.”
Mia’s heart accelerated.
“He’s alive?”
Carlo did not answer.
She stepped forward.
“Is Samuel Price alive?”
“Yes.”
The word struck like lightning.
“Where?”
Carlo shook his head.
“I can’t tell you.”
Mia moved closer.
“You will.”
One of Carlo’s soldiers raised his rifle.
Enzo immediately pointed his gun at the man.
“Point that weapon at her again and your mother will bury pieces of you.”
Carlo lifted a hand.
The rifle lowered.
Mia stared at Enzo.
His expression left no doubt.
The threat had been genuine.
Carlo smiled faintly.
“That’s new.”
“What?”
“You.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
“You never put yourself between bullets and anyone except Matteo.”
“Things change.”
“Apparently.”
Carlo studied Mia.
“Be careful, doctor. Men like Lorenzo don’t fall in love gently.”
Mia’s heartbeat stumbled.
Enzo’s eyes flashed.
“We are not discussing my personal life.”
“That means I’m correct.”
“Carlo.”
“Fine.”
He reached into his coat.
Every Moretti weapon rose.
Carlo slowly withdrew an envelope.
“I came to give you this.”
He tossed it.
Matteo caught it.
Inside was a train ticket.
Chicago to New York.
Tomorrow night.
And a handwritten address in Queens.
Mia looked at Carlo.
“Samuel?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“He contacted me three years ago. Last known address.”
“Why help us?”
Carlo’s expression became tired.
“Because Volkov has stopped playing by the old rules.”
“What happened?” Enzo asked.
Carlo hesitated.
“He took Dante.”
Enzo froze.
Mia remembered the name.
Dante Moretti.
Enzo’s twenty-four-year-old half brother.
A graduate student at Northwestern.
Almost entirely removed from the family business.
“When?” Enzo demanded.
“Six hours ago.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“You were busy being attacked in Evanston.”
Enzo grabbed Carlo by the coat.
Guns moved.
“Where is my brother?”
“I don’t know.”
“You lose Dante and then come here talking about caution?”
Carlo did not resist.
“They want the key.”
Everyone looked toward Enzo’s hand.
Mia felt cold.
“How do they know about it?” she asked.
Carlo looked at her.
“Because someone told them.”
“The mole.”
“Yes.”
Enzo released his uncle.
“You?”
Carlo laughed once.
“If I were the mole, you would already be dead.”
“That isn’t proof.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Enzo looked at Matteo.
A silent conversation passed between them.
Trust had become dangerous.
Mia realized that was the brilliance of betrayal.
The mole did not need to kill Enzo immediately.
He only needed to make Enzo suspicious of everyone.
Carlo straightened his coat.
“Volkov will contact you soon.”
“What does he want?”
“The key in exchange for Dante.”
Mia looked at Enzo.
He closed his fingers around the small piece of brass.
“You can have another key made,” she said.
Carlo shook his head.
“It isn’t about the metal. The engraving is part of a cipher.”
Matteo examined it.
“GCT-314.”
Carlo nodded.
“The location and code.”
Mia’s mind raced.
GCT.
A place.
A box.
A vault.
Enzo asked, “How much time?”
“Volkov usually gives twenty-four hours.”
As if summoned by the name, Enzo’s phone rang.
Everyone went silent.
Unknown number.
Enzo answered.
“Speak.”
A man laughed.
Russian accent.
“Lorenzo Moretti.”
Sergei Volkov.
Mia could hear him through the speaker.
“I hear your doctor is very talented.”
Enzo’s expression turned murderous.
“If you touched Dante—”
“He is alive.”
A muffled sound followed.
Then Dante’s voice.
“Enzo?”
Enzo gripped the phone.
“Dante.”
“I’m okay.”
A strike.
Dante grunted.
Mia saw Enzo’s control fracture.
“Sergei.”
His voice dropped to something inhuman.
“I will skin every person you have ever loved.”
Volkov laughed.
“Always poetry with Italians.”
“What do you want?”
“The key.”
“You don’t know what it opens.”
“Neither do you.”
A pause.
“Midnight tomorrow. Navy Pier. You bring the key. I bring your brother.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at Enzo.
Volkov sounded amused.
“No?”
“I choose the location.”
“You are not negotiating.”
“I am always negotiating.”
Enzo glanced at Mia.
She understood something.
He was stalling.
Thinking.
“If you want the key, Dante isn’t enough.”
“What else?”
“Proof Samuel Price is alive.”
Mia’s head snapped toward him.
Volkov became silent.
That silence answered more than words.
Enzo smiled.
“You know where he is.”
Volkov said nothing.
Enzo continued.
“Tomorrow. I want Dante and Price.”
“In exchange for one key?”
“And you don’t die.”
Volkov laughed again.
“I missed you, Lorenzo.”
The call disconnected.
Mia stared at him.
“You gambled with your brother’s life.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know whether Samuel matters.”
“He matters to you.”
“That’s not strategy.”
“No.”
Her anger faltered.
Enzo looked at her.
“That was personal.”
Nobody spoke.
Carlo finally said, “This is why women are dangerous.”
Mia glared.
“I can hear you.”
“I intended you to.”
Enzo ignored him.
“Matteo, trace the call.”
“Already trying.”
“Luca, lock down every Moretti property. Nobody travels alone.”
Carlo said, “You’re assuming the traitor isn’t already standing in one.”
Enzo looked at him.
“I’m assuming nothing.”
They returned to the safe house before sunrise.
Mia could not sleep.
At four in the morning, she found Enzo in the kitchen.
He was seated alone with a glass of water.
No whiskey.
She noticed.
“You listened.”
“To what?”
“No alcohol.”
“You threatened to sedate me.”
“I meant it.”
“I believed you.”
She sat across from him.
For several moments, they said nothing.
Then Mia asked, “What is Dante like?”
Enzo looked down at the water.
“Good.”
“That sounded painful.”
“He’s everything I’m not.”
“Meaning?”
“He believes people can be decent without being forced.”
Mia smiled faintly.
“Terrible flaw.”
“I tried to keep him out.”
“Of the organization?”
“Of me.”
She studied him.
“Why?”
“My father used to say blood carries destiny.”
“And you believe him?”
“I did.”
Enzo’s fingers tightened around the glass.
“My mother died when I was eleven. My father raised me after that.”
“What was he like?”
“Efficient.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is.”
Mia understood.
Some childhoods could be summarized by what was missing.
“Dante has a different mother?”
“Yes. Sofia. She left when Dante was six. I paid her to disappear.”
Mia stared.
“Why?”
“Because my father would have used Dante to control her. Then used her to control Dante.”
“You were how old?”
“Twenty-one.”
“You paid your stepmother to abandon her son?”
“I paid her to survive. Dante stayed with me.”
Mia softened.
“So you raised him.”
Enzo looked annoyed by the phrasing.
“I arranged things.”
“That means yes.”
“He had schools. Tutors. Security.”
“Birthday parties?”
Enzo looked away.
Mia smiled.
“You threw birthday parties.”
“Once.”
“How bad?”
“Thirty children destroyed a ballroom.”
She laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Enzo looked at her.
The hardness in his face eased.
Mia suddenly understood something she had not before.
Enzo had not protected Dante because blood demanded it.
He protected Dante because somewhere beneath the scars, threats and brutality, Lorenzo Moretti knew exactly what it meant to be a frightened child inside a violent family.
She reached across the table.
Her fingers covered his.
“I’ll help you get him back.”
“You’re already involved.”
“I mean willingly.”
Enzo stared at their hands.
“Mia.”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t offer things to men like me willingly.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know how to return them.”
She did not move her hand.
“Learn.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
Something shifted.
Not desire alone.
Something far more dangerous.
Trust.
Enzo stood.
Mia’s pulse accelerated as he walked around the table.
He stopped in front of her.
“Tell me to stop.”
She knew what he meant.
She should have.
Every rational part of her screamed that she should.
He had kidnapped her.
Threatened her.
Controlled her life.
Yet he had also bled to protect her.
Twice.
And she had killed to save him.
There was nothing rational between them anymore.
Mia whispered, “I didn’t ask you to start.”
Enzo’s hand slid behind her neck.
Then he kissed her.
It was not gentle.
But it was not forced.
It was the kiss of two people who had spent days surviving death and had finally found something that felt violently alive.
Mia grabbed his shirt.
Enzo pulled her closer.
His mouth softened for a fraction of a second.
That tenderness frightened her more than the hunger.
She broke away first.
Both were breathing hard.
“This is a terrible idea,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“You’re technically my employer.”
“Yes.”
“My kidnapper.”
“Debatable.”
“Not remotely.”
He almost smiled.
“And you’re injured.”
“Less relevant.”
She touched his bandage.
“Very relevant.”
Enzo leaned his forehead against hers.
“I’m going to get Dante back.”
“We are.”
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, Lorenzo Moretti looked exhausted.
Human.
Then Matteo entered.
He stopped.
Looked at Mia.
Looked at Enzo.
Then deliberately looked at the ceiling.
“I have news.”
Mia moved away.
“What?”
Matteo put a laptop on the counter.
“I identified GCT.”
Enzo immediately focused.
“Where?”
“It isn’t Grand Central.”
He turned the screen.
A photograph appeared of an enormous Art Deco building beside the Chicago River.
“The old Grand Central Telephone Exchange.”
Mia frowned.
“Abandoned?”
“Mostly. Basement contains private vault storage dating back to the 1960s.”
Matteo tapped the key.
“Vault 314.”
Enzo looked at Mia.
The ledger.
Matteo’s expression remained grim.
“There’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Someone accessed the vault three days ago.”
Mia’s stomach dropped.
“Who?”
Matteo showed them the security photograph.
Mia stared at the grainy face.
An older man.
White beard.
Glasses.
But she knew the eyes.
She had seen them every morning of her childhood.
Her knees nearly gave out.
“My father.”
May you like
Marcus Katherine was alive.
And he was in Chicago.
