Chapter 4 - The Ransom
Beatrice frantically snatched the glowing phone directly out of my hand, and a piercing, agonizing scream tore violently through the silent, abandoned subway tunnel.
I had to physically catch her as her legs gave out completely, her small frame shaking uncontrollably with the devastating realization that her child was going to die.
Lorenzo's follow-up message bluntly demanded that I bring Matteo back to the heavily fortified mansion within two hours, or the little girl would be executed in her sleep.
Matteo silently reloaded his smoking revolver, his heavily scarred jaw setting into a tight, merciless line that promised absolute carnage.
He looked me dead in the eyes and told me this horrific vulnerability was exactly why he had chosen to stay completely dead for over a decade.
He explained that Lorenzo had spent the last ten years quietly consolidating absolute power, deliberately replacing my most loyal, seasoned captains with his own greedy, bloodthirsty mercenaries.
I felt physically violently ill as the crushing reality set in that my trusted right-hand man was actually holding a choke-chain tightly around my neck.
I gently grabbed Beatrice by the shoulders and made a blood oath that we were going to get her daughter back safely before the sun rose over Chicago.
I hurriedly led them through the twisting underground maze to a secret, climate-controlled garage where I kept an untraceable, bulletproof vintage muscle car fueled for emergencies just like this.
As we sped recklessly toward the glittering skyline of the city, I furiously demanded the rest of the hidden truth from my resurrected brother.
I desperately needed to understand exactly why Lorenzo had wanted a highly respected syndicate boss like him dead so badly in the first place.
Matteo slowly reached into the inner lining of his torn, blood-stained jacket and pulled out a remarkably well-preserved, thick leather accounting journal.
He explained with a deadly calm voice that this hidden ledger held the true, unedited financial records of the entire Chicago syndicate dating back twenty years.
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I grabbed the heavy book with one hand while steering the roaring car, frantically flipping to the very first page under the flashing amber glow of passing streetlights.
My blood instantly turned to pure ice when I read the undeniable name of the syndicate's true, overarching puppet master written at the top of the massive payout list.
