Chapter 14 - THE GHOSTS OF VITELLI LOGISTICS
Though the Bratva had been dismantled and Viktor Vance was rotting in a federal penitentiary,
the underworld never truly sleeps.
One afternoon,
Matteo walked into my study without knocking,
holding an unmarked manila envelope with a serious look on his face.
What is it,
Matteo,
I asked,
not looking up from the blueprint of the new children's library we were building in honor of St.
Margaret’s.
A package arrived at the downtown shipping terminal this morning,
Matteo said,
setting the envelope on the desk.
Addressed directly to you.
No return address.
I opened it with a letter opener,
sliding out a single photograph and a handwritten note.
The photograph showed me,
Alina,
and Sophia walking out of St.
Margaret’s orphanage two months ago,
captured through a high-powered telephoto lens.
The note was written in block letters.
THE GAME ISN'T OVER,
VITELLI.
YOU FORGOT ABOUT THE REAL OWNERS OF THE CHICAGO PORTS.
Who sent this,
I asked,
my voice dropping to a dangerous,
icy register.
We traced the courier service to a shell company registered in Panama,
Matteo replied grimly.
It leads back to the Outfit.
The old Chicago Syndicate.
I thought we had an understanding with them years ago,
I snarled.
Times change,
Marco,
Matteo said.
With Vance out of the picture,
the Outfit thinks the Chicago waterfront is wide open for the taking.
And they think our family is the weak link they can use to squeeze us.
They think wrong,
I said,
standing up and reaching for my shoulder holster.
Nico.
May you like
Get the tactical team suited up.
We’re going to pay a little visit to the old social club on Taylor Street.
