Chapter 3 - The Cold War of Chicago
The fallout from Dominic’s betrayal was swift, but the real war was just beginning.
For three days, the Moretti estate remained under complete dark-protocol lockdown. Snow continued to fall in heavy, suffocating sheets over the city of Chicago, burying the roads and blanketing the estate grounds in a silent, white shroud.
In the basement beneath the coal chute, Dominic had sung like a canary.
He had revealed everything: Viktor Vance’s safehouses across Illinois, the names of corrupt city officials on Vance's payroll, and the exact date Vance planned to launch an armed assault on my dockside distribution hubs—this coming Sunday at midnight.
Vance believed his tracker was still operating inside Nero’s neck. He didn't know that Doctor Harrison had wired the titanium device into an automated loop generator, broadcasting fake audio feeds of mundane estate life—servants vacuuming, clattering dishes, and simulated dog barks—directly to Vance's receivers.
I sat in my command room on the second floor, looking at three large monitors displaying the real-time layout of the Chicago harbor.
"Don Alessio," Marco said, entering the room with two thick folders. "The perimeter guards at Dock 14 have been reinforced. We have thirty men stationed inside the shipping containers, fully armed with heavy ordnance."
"Good," I replied, without turning around. "What about the child?"
"Sienna and Elsie have been settled into the suite on the third floor. Two guards are stationed outside their door around the clock. The dog hasn't left her side."
I turned my chair around. "Nero is sleeping in her room?"
"On the rug right beside her bed," Marco smiled faintly—a rare sight for my stone-faced security chief. "The little girl reads him picture books before she goes to sleep. The dog actually listens."
I nodded slowly, feeling a strange, unfamiliar warmth in my chest. For ten years, Nero had been an instrument of war—a lethal weapon trained to tear out throats on my command. To see him become a guardian to a innocent child felt like a second chance, not just for the dog, but for the entire household.
"Alessio," Marco’s smile faded, replaced by his usual stern demeanor. "We have a problem regarding Viktor Vance's financial network."
"Speak."
"Vance isn't working alone," Marco said, laying a folder on my desk. "The money trail Dominic provided... it doesn't lead back to Ukraine. It leads to a private wealth management firm right here in Chicago. Sterling & Associates."
I froze.
Sterling & Associates was run by Arthur Sterling—a man known as the 'clean face' of high society. A philanthropist, a major political donor, and a man whose daughter, Clara, had been engaged to my late younger brother six years ago before his tragic death in an automobile accident.
"Arthur Sterling is funding Vance?" I asked, my voice dangerously low.
"Not just funding him," Marco replied, opening the folder to reveal bank transfer receipts bearing Sterling’s personal signature. "He bought the military trackers. He provided the diplomatic clearance to import Vance’s mercenary team into the country. Sterling wants you dead, Alessio. He wants the Moretti syndicate erased so he can take total control of the Midwest trade routes."
I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers.
"Arthur Sterling," I murmured. "The man who sat at my dinner table last Christmas and toasted to my father's memory."
May you like
"What are your orders?" Marco asked.
"Change of plans for Sunday night," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "We aren't just going to defend Dock 14. We are going to invite Arthur Sterling to the show."
