Chapter 19 - The Vault of Sins
The summit at Lake Geneva was set for noon at the historic Stone Manor—a neutral, fortified estate on the Wisconsin border where the American syndicates had settled blood feuds for over a century.
Before the convoy departed, we had four hours to access the deepest underground safe in the city: The Vault of Sins.
Located beneath the historic Chicago Board of Trade, the vault was a relic of the Prohibition era, accessible only through a retinal scanner registered to the reigning Don and a dual-key mechanism requiring the signature ring.
We descended three stories beneath the bedrock, accompanied only by Matteo.
The heavy vault door swung open with a deep hydraulic groan, releasing the musty scent of aged paper, gold bullion, and fifty years of unprosecuted secrets.
"Everything Moretti has ever done to undermine the other Four Families is documented here," Carlo explained, opening an iron cabinet filled with ledgers and black data drives.
"My father kept blackmail files on every Commission member," Carlo pulled out a heavy ledger bound in calfskin. "Moretti thought he was untouchable because he controlled the port authorities in Newark. But look at this."
I examined the financial routing slips.
Moretti had been skimming off the Commission’s collective retirement fund—tens of millions of dollars stolen from the widows and orphans of deceased soldiers across the nation.
"If the Five Families see this," I realized, a brilliant tactical move forming in my mind, "Moretti won't just lose his war against Chicago. His own captains will execute him before the sunset."
"Exactly," Carlo said, closing the ledger with a heavy thud. "We don't need to fire a single bullet at Lake Geneva. We let his own family devour him."
As Carlo turned to pack the ledgers into a secure briefcase, a sudden wave of dizziness hit me.
The room tilted violently, and a sharp, metallic taste filled the back of my mouth.
I reached out, bracing my hand against the cold steel shelves, my knees turning to jelly.
"Bianca?" Carlo’s voice was instantly beside me.
His strong arms caught me as I swayed, lifting me gently onto a wooden crate, his face pale with immediate panic.
"What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did a bullet graze you at the warehouse?" Carlo’s hands frantically checked my arms, my ribs, my neck.
"No... no, I'm not hurt," I breathed, resting my head against his shoulder as the room slowly stopped spinning.
"You’ve been running on adrenaline and four hours of sleep for three days straight," Carlo said, his voice filled with tender anguish. "You need a hospital. You need a doctor. The summit can wait."
"No, it can't," I insisted, grabbing his lapels, forcing him to look at me. "If we miss that summit, Moretti moves his soldiers into our city. I'm just exhausted, Carlo. I just need some water."
Matteo handed me a cold bottle of water, his eyes respectful but worried.
As I took a sip, my mind raced through the past three weeks.
The missed cycle. The sudden hypersensitivity to the smell of gun oil and coffee. The inexplicable exhaustion that had weighed on my bones even before the midnight severance.
My breath caught in my throat.
I looked down at my stomach, my heart pounding with a sudden, overwhelming rhythm that drowned out all the noise of the underworld.
*Not now,* I prayed silently, a wave of profound joy colliding with absolute terror. *Please, God, keep my baby safe.*
I looked up at Carlo, seeing the fierce, desperate love in his eyes—a man who had thrown his life away to protect me, a man who had bled for me, a man who would tear the world apart for our future.
I couldn't tell him now.
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If Carlo knew I was carrying his child, he would lock me in an iron bunker and walk into the Lake Geneva summit alone, ready to die so we could live.
"I'm fine," I said softly, giving him a reassuring smile that took every ounce of my strength to steady. "Let's go win this war."
