Chapter 4 - The Sleeping Syndicate
The air outside the Moretti estate tasted like freedom.
I climbed into the back of my waiting car and gave the driver a new address.
We were not going to my marital home.
We were driving to the industrial district on the South Side.
For three years, I had hidden my true lineage behind a veil of suburban domesticity.
Vincent thought he had married a quiet, sheltered girl from a moderately successful merchant family.
He had no idea that the Bennett family was the oldest bloodline in the Midwest underworld.
My father, Arthur Bennett, did not deal in petty street crime or flashy casinos like the Morettis.
The Bennetts controlled the ports, the supply lines, and the silent, invisible infrastructure that allowed families like the Morettis to operate.
We did not need to wear flashy suits or demand men stand when we entered a room.
We owned the rooms.
The car pulled up to a massive, heavily guarded warehouse overlooking the freezing waters of Lake Michigan.
Armed men in dark jackets nodded respectfully as I stepped out of the vehicle.
They did not call me Mrs. Moretti.
They called me Miss Bennett.
I walked up the metal staircase to the glass-walled office overlooking the shipping floor.
My older brother, Julian, was sitting at the massive steel desk.
Julian was cold, calculating, and ruthlessly protective of our family name.
He looked up from his ledger as I walked in.
He did not look surprised to see me without my wedding ring.
He had seen the photo I sent to our family server.
He stood up, walked over, and poured two glasses of scotch.
He handed me one and tapped his glass against mine.
He told me it was about time I came home.
I took a sip of the burning liquid and felt the last traces of Claire Moretti burn away.
I asked Julian if the network was ready.
He smiled, a terrifying expression that promised absolute ruin.
He told me that the Bennett syndicate had been quietly preparing for this day for three years.
My father had never trusted Vincent Moretti.
He had only agreed to the marriage because it temporarily stabilized a volatile territory dispute.
But my father had promised me that the moment Vincent broke his vow, the treaty would burn.
I set my glass down on the desk.
I told my brother I wanted the Morettis crippled before the sun went down tomorrow.
Julian walked over to a massive map of the city pinned to the wall.
He began placing red markers on key locations.
He explained that the Morettis relied on our shipping containers to move their most lucrative illegal cargo.
He told me that as of five minutes ago, every single Moretti shipment had been seized by our dockworkers.
Vincent’s main supply line was completely choked off.
I felt a dark thrill run through my veins.
Vincent thought he was the apex predator of Chicago.
He was about to learn that he had spent the last three years sleeping next to the apex predator’s daughter.
I pulled out my phone.
I had thirty-four missed calls from Vincent.
May you like
I blocked his number.
The war had officially begun, and I was going to enjoy every single second of it.
