Chapter 6 - The Dead Man’s LedgerThe first bullet struck the penthouse glass at 6:17 on a Tuesday morning.
Abigail heard the impact before she understood it.
A flat, violent crack split the quiet breakfast room.
Her coffee cup shattered against the marble floor.
Dominic moved before the second shot arrived.
He seized Abigail around the waist and pulled her down behind the stone kitchen island.
A fraction of a second later, another round slammed into the reinforced window directly behind the chair where she had been sitting.
The glass whitened around the impact point but did not break.
Security alarms erupted through the penthouse.
Red emergency lights began flashing inside the corridor.
Dominic covered Abigail with his body.
His left hand pressed her head beneath his shoulder while the right reached beneath his jacket and removed the compact pistol he had begun carrying since the Barrington attack.
“Stay down.”
His voice contained no panic.
That frightened Abigail more than shouting would have.
Six months earlier, Dominic Russo had been a prisoner inside these walls.
Now danger entered his home, and the man above her became terrifyingly calm.
Footsteps thundered through the corridor.
Tommy entered with 4 guards.
“North tower.”
He carried an assault rifle across his chest.
“Possibly the construction site across the river. Shooter has elevation.”
Another bullet struck the exterior glass.
Dominic looked toward the impact.
Three rounds.
All within several feet of Abigail’s breakfast chair.
Not random.
Not intimidation.
“Shut the elevators.”
Dominic stood carefully.
His right leg protested after the sudden movement, but his face revealed nothing.
“Lock the service stairs and move her into the safe room.”
“No.”
Abigail rose behind him.
Dominic turned.
Her auburn hair had fallen loose around her shoulders.
Coffee darkened the sleeve of her pale sweater.
She was visibly shaken, but the old terror Richard Lawson had placed inside her was absent.
“I am not being locked inside another room while everyone decides what happens to me.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“This is not a discussion.”
“It became a discussion when someone put 3 bullets through the window beside my head.”
“Abigail.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“You taught me how to defend myself. You told me fear stops controlling me when I understand what I am facing.”
Her storm-gray eyes held his.
“So tell me what we are facing.”
Tommy looked between them and wisely remained silent.
Dominic exhaled through his nose.
Marriage had not softened Abigail.
The diamond on her finger did not make her obedient.
If anything, safety had restored every stubborn part of the woman Lawson had once tried to destroy.
Dominic loved her for it.
At that moment, he also wanted to place her beneath armed guard in another state.
“Fine.”
He looked at Tommy.
“Find the shooter.”
Tommy gave a short nod.
“Already moving.”
“Alive.”
That caused Tommy to pause.
Dominic’s eyes became cold.
“I want to know who sent him.”
Within 11 minutes, Russo men had sealed several blocks around the river.
Within 23, the sniper was located.
He had not been inside the construction project.
He had occupied an unfinished luxury condominium approximately 700 yards away, using a suppressed .338 rifle mounted behind dark plastic sheeting.
The shooter attempted to escape through a maintenance elevator.
He discovered 8 Russo men waiting downstairs.
By 7:04 a.m., he was secured inside a utility room beneath the penthouse.
Dominic had changed from sleep clothes into a charcoal suit.
Abigail entered the office while he examined photographs from the scene.
The rifle.
A burner telephone.
Three ammunition magazines.
A hotel key.
And 1 strange object that did not belong with the rest.
A small brass medallion.
Dominic picked it up from the evidence tray.
His expression changed instantly.
Abigail noticed.
“What is it?”
He did not answer.
The circular piece of metal contained the stamped image of a wolf beneath a crown.
The symbol appeared crude, almost antique.
Abigail had never seen it.
Tommy had.
He entered and stopped when he noticed the medallion inside Dominic’s hand.
“Where did that come from?”
“The shooter.”
Dominic turned it over.
The reverse side contained 2 initials.
L.R.
Tommy became completely still.
Abigail looked between them.
“Who is L.R.?”
Neither man answered immediately.
Then Dominic placed the medallion down.
“My father.”
Abigail stared at him.
“Luciano Russo?”
Dominic had spoken very little about his father.
She knew only the broad outline.
Luciano Russo had controlled most of the family’s organization before dying from pancreatic cancer 8 years earlier.
Dominic inherited the empire.
Leo remained beside him until the bombing 3 years later.
“My father gave these to captains who handled business outside Chicago.”
Dominic’s thumb moved over the wolf.
“They were never supposed to circulate.”
Tommy looked toward the evidence photographs.
“Most were buried with the men who carried them.”
“Most?”
Abigail caught the word.
Tommy’s mouth became grim.
“Luciano maintained operations outside Illinois that even Dominic did not fully inherit.”
Dominic looked sharply at him.
“You never mentioned that.”
“I did not know enough to mention.”
Tommy walked toward the windows.
“Your father compartmentalized everything. Half of his people knew only the person directly above them.”
Dominic’s gaze darkened.
“What operations?”
“International shipping.”
Tommy hesitated.
“Private banking.”
“Drugs?”
“Some.”
“Weapons?”
Tommy looked toward Abigail before answering.
“Yes.”
Dominic gave a bitter laugh.
“My father always said he avoided weapons because they attracted federal attention.”
“Your father said many things.”
The sentence came from behind them.
All 3 turned.
An elderly man stood near the office entrance.
Dominic’s security chief appeared immediately behind him.
“Boss, he requested an audience downstairs.”
Dominic’s hand moved toward his weapon.
The visitor was perhaps 70.
Tall despite age.
White hair swept backward from a deeply lined face.
He wore a dark overcoat and held a black cane topped with carved ivory.
There was no visible fear inside him despite entering the home of Chicago’s most feared criminal leader without invitation.
Dominic stared.
“I know you.”
The man’s mouth formed the faintest smile.
“You should.”
He entered slowly.
“My name is Vittorio Bellandi.”
Tommy’s face lost color.
Abigail noticed immediately.
Dominic did too.
“Explain.”
Tommy lowered his weapon by several inches.
“Bellandi was your father’s consigliere before I joined the organization.”
Dominic’s attention returned to the old man.
“You disappeared after his funeral.”
“I retired.”
Vittorio looked toward the bullet marks in the windows.
“It appears retirement has ended.”
He removed his gloves.
“Luciano made me swear that I would stay away unless something happened that threatened both his surviving son and the continuity of the Russo bloodline.”
His eyes moved toward Abigail’s ring.
“I assume congratulations are appropriate.”
Dominic stepped between them.
“Do not speak about her.”
Vittorio nodded slowly.
“Still protective.”
His gaze held Dominic.
“Like your father.”
“Do not compare me to him.”
“Then perhaps you should learn what he did.”
Vittorio reached inside his coat.
Three guns rose immediately.
He stopped.
“Paper.”
He withdrew a yellowed envelope and placed it on the desk.
The writing across the front was unmistakably old-fashioned.
DOMINIC.
The name had been written in black fountain pen.
Dominic did not touch it.
“What is this?”
“A letter Luciano gave me 2 weeks before his death.”
Vittorio’s face hardened.
“He told me to deliver it if a wolf medallion ever appeared beside an attempt on your life.”
Silence filled the office.
Abigail felt the air change.
Dominic opened the envelope.
Inside rested a single page.
He read without speaking.
His face became increasingly unreadable.
Then his eyes stopped near the middle.
“No.”
Tommy stepped closer.
“What?”
Dominic handed him the letter.
Abigail watched Tommy read.
His mouth opened.
“This cannot be true.”
Dominic turned toward Vittorio.
“Leo was not killed because of Costa territory.”
Abigail’s stomach tightened.
Vittorio shook his head.
“No.”
Dominic’s voice became dangerous.
“The bomb was not meant for both of us.”
“No.”
Vittorio’s next words entered the room like another rifle shot.
“It was meant for you.”
Abigail felt Dominic become absolutely still.
Vittorio continued.
“Your brother was collateral damage.”
For 5 years Dominic had believed Leo died inside a territorial war.
He blamed himself because Leo had taken the driver’s seat that evening.
He blamed the Costas.
He blamed the street.
He blamed the car.
He blamed open space.
He had imprisoned himself inside a penthouse because every uncontrollable environment resembled the moment the world exploded.
Now the foundation of that trauma shifted.
“Who ordered it?”
Dominic asked.
Vittorio sat opposite the desk.
“Luciano created something approximately 20 years ago.”
He folded both hands around the cane.
“A financial network called the Consortium.”
Tommy frowned.
“I have never heard of it.”
“You were not meant to.”
Vittorio looked toward Dominic.
“It joined 6 criminal organizations across Chicago, New York, Boston, Montreal, Naples, and Barcelona.”
His expression remained serious.
“Your father centralized laundering, shipping access, judicial bribery, and offshore assets.”
Abigail listened with growing alarm.
“Why would he do that?”
“Because Luciano believed organized crime was becoming too fragmented.”
Vittorio looked toward her.
“He wanted structure.”
Dominic laughed coldly.
“He wanted a throne.”
“Yes.”
The old man did not soften the truth.
“And he nearly created one.”
He pointed toward the medallion.
“The wolf identified members loyal directly to Luciano rather than their individual families.”
Dominic looked toward the cracked glass.
“And after he died?”
“The Consortium divided.”
Vittorio leaned back.
“One faction wanted you to inherit his seat.”
“Another?”
“Wanted every Russo dead.”
Abigail’s blood chilled.
Dominic’s stare sharpened.
“Why wait 3 years after my father died to attack me?”
“Because Leo changed something.”
Dominic stopped breathing for a moment.
“What did my brother do?”
Vittorio looked almost sad.
“Leo discovered the accounts.”
He continued.
“He found approximately $1.8 billion concealed through trusts, shell companies, art holdings, ports, and cryptocurrency.”
Tommy swore quietly.
“Leo intended to expose them?”
“No.”
Vittorio’s gaze returned to Dominic.
“He intended to steal the entire network from the Consortium and place it under Russo control.”
Dominic’s face shifted.
That sounded like Leo.
Brilliant.
Reckless.
Always smiling while playing with matches inside a gasoline refinery.
“He succeeded?”
“Partially.”
Vittorio nodded.
“He transferred control keys before the bombing.”
“Where?”
“I do not know.”
Vittorio’s voice became grim.
“But someone believes you do.”
Abigail looked toward the shattered window.
“The sniper.”
“Yes.”
Vittorio turned to her.
“The bullets this morning were not intended to kill Dominic.”
Dominic’s head snapped toward him.
Vittorio continued.
“They were intended for you.”
The room became cold.
Dominic approached slowly.
His cane struck the floor once.
“You have approximately 5 seconds to explain why.”
“Because they already tried killing you once.”
Vittorio remained seated.
“It created a ghost, not a corpse.”
He looked toward Abigail.
“Then this woman pulled you out of isolation.”
His voice became measured.
“She made you visible.”
Dominic’s fingers curled.
“She is not involved.”
“She is entirely involved.”
Vittorio shook his head.
“Everyone watched what happened with Carmine Costa.”
He looked toward the bulletproof glass.
“They watched Dominic Russo walk into public because one woman was threatened.”
Abigail understood.
She hated that she understood.
“I am leverage again.”
“No.”
Dominic answered immediately.
Vittorio’s eyes remained on her.
“Yes.”
Dominic slammed his palm against the desk.
“No.”
Abigail touched his arm.
He turned.
She saw rage.
Beneath it was something worse.
Fear.
Not fear for himself.
Fear of losing another person he loved.
“Dominic.”
Her voice softened.
“I need the truth, even when the truth is ugly.”
His jaw worked.
Finally, he looked away.
Vittorio continued.
“The sniper carried the wolf so you would understand the message.”
“What message?”
Tommy asked.
Vittorio took a slow breath.
“That the people who killed Leo have returned.”
He stood.
“And this time, they know exactly where Dominic’s heart lives.”
That night, Abigail could not sleep.
She stood barefoot before the windows inside their bedroom.
The damaged pane had already been covered with armored steel until replacement glass arrived.
Chicago glittered around them.
Five years earlier, Dominic viewed those lights as something unreachable.
Now the city represented a different kind of prison.
Hundreds of windows.
Thousands of rooftops.
Millions of strangers.
Any one of them could conceal another weapon.
Dominic entered quietly.
He had removed his jacket.
His tie hung loose.
He looked exhausted.
Abigail turned.
“Did he talk?”
Dominic had spent 2 hours downstairs interrogating the shooter.
His expression gave the answer.
“Yes.”
“Who hired him?”
“He does not know.”
She folded her arms.
“A professional intermediary transferred payment.”
“How much?”
“$500,000.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Half a million dollars to shoot me?”
“To miss you.”
Abigail stared.
Dominic approached.
“He was ordered to place 3 rounds within 5 feet.”
“So the purpose really was the medallion.”
“Yes.”
He stopped before her.
“The fourth round was supposed to enter the chair if we failed to make contact within 24 hours.”
Abigail’s mouth became dry.
“Contact with whom?”
Dominic removed a small telephone from his pocket.
It was not his.
“The sniper’s burner.”
The screen displayed 1 unread message.
MIDNIGHT TOMORROW.
OLD UNION STATION POWERHOUSE.
BRING LUCIANO’S LEDGER.
COME ALONE OR THE WOMAN DIES FIRST.
Abigail read it twice.
Then she looked at Dominic.
“You do not have the ledger.”
“No.”
“But they believe you do.”
“Yes.”
She saw something forming inside his face.
“No.”
Dominic said nothing.
“You are not going alone.”
“I am.”
“Dominic.”
“They targeted you because of me.”
She stepped closer.
“They targeted me because someone thinks pain controls you.”
His voice became low.
“It does.”
The admission surprised her.
Dominic touched her cheek.
“When Leo died, part of me stopped living.”
His thumb moved gently across her skin.
“I survived because I stopped caring whether anything existed beyond these walls.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“Then you entered this home and taught me how to want tomorrow.”
Abigail closed her eyes.
“That cannot become another cage.”
“It is not.”
“Yes, it is.”
She pulled back.
“If loving me means every enemy can make you irrational by threatening me, they win.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“What do you suggest?”
“That we stop reacting.”
Abigail looked toward the burner telephone.
“We find out what Leo hid.”
“How?”
“You know your brother better than anyone.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
She continued.
“If Leo moved nearly $2 billion and believed people were trying to kill him, he would have left something behind.”
A long silence followed.
Then Dominic looked toward the windows.
“When we were children, Leo and I had a hiding place.”
Abigail waited.
“Our mother owned a house in Lake Geneva.”
His eyes narrowed as memory returned.
“She died when Leo was 12.”
He looked toward Abigail.
“My father sold the property afterward.”
“But?”
“Leo bought it back secretly when he was 21.”
Abigail’s pulse accelerated.
“Did anyone know?”
“I did.”
Dominic’s voice became distant.
“He never told our father.”
A strange look entered his eyes.
“The night before the explosion, Leo asked me whether I remembered where we buried the king.”
Abigail frowned.
“The king?”
Dominic suddenly turned toward her.
For the 1st time since the bullet struck the glass, something resembling certainty entered his expression.
“When we were boys, we buried a metal chess set beneath the old boathouse.”
His hand tightened around the burner telephone.
“He was not being nostalgic.”
Abigail understood.
“He was telling you where to look.”
Dominic reached for his jacket.
She stared at him.
“It is almost midnight.”
“I know.”
“You cannot possibly intend to drive to Wisconsin tonight.”
Dominic slipped the jacket on.
The corner of his mouth moved.
“Six months ago, entering an elevator nearly killed me.”
He took his cane.
“Tonight, I am crossing state lines.”
Abigail reached for her own coat.
Dominic looked at her.
“No.”
She continued putting it on.
“You may command Chicago.”
She lifted her chin.
“You do not command me.”
A dark smile appeared.
“Unfortunately, I have learned that.”
Tommy entered the hallway wearing a shoulder holster.
Behind him stood 4 armed men.
“Cars are ready.”
Dominic looked toward his future wife.
Then toward the city.
The dead had reached out from 5 years ago.
May you like
Leo had left a path through the grave.
And Dominic Russo intended to follow it.
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