Chapter 6 - The Traitor's Price
The rain had eased into a heavy, freezing mist by three-thirty in the morning.
Mateo sat inside the back of a luxury armored sedan parked two blocks south of the Barbieri tower, watching the penthouse windows with binoculars.
He wore an expensive cashmere coat, smoking a Cuban cigar with trembling fingers.
He had spent his whole life walking two steps behind Carlo Barbieri, taking orders, accepting scraps from the high table.
Tonight, he was supposed to become the new lord of Chicago.
Falcone had promised him the throne once Carlo was eliminated and the asset ledgers were transferred.
His satellite phone buzzed against the leather seat.
Mateo snatched it up eagerly.
"Trent? Is it done?"
"You miserable, two-faced son of a bitch," Falcone’s voice snarled through the receiver, vibrating with psychotic rage.
Mateo froze, the cigar slipping from his fingers onto the expensive carpet.
"What? Trent, what are you talking about?"
"My port shipments in Newark were just seized by Homeland Security!" Falcone roared.
"My offshore liquidity accounts were drained into the Gambino family’s escrow!"
"And my system administrator just traced the transfer authentication straight to your private terminal in Cicero!"
Mateo’s face turned gray as ash.
"No! That's impossible! I didn't touch your accounts! I've been sitting in the car waiting for your all-clear!"
"You took my three million and sold my freight routes to New York!" Falcone screamed.
"I have two hit squads heading down to your car right now, Mateo."
"I am going to take Carlo’s skin off, and then I am going to make you eat it."
The line clicked dead.
"Drive! Drive the car now!" Mateo screamed at his bodyguard behind the wheel, kicking the back of the front seat in pure hysteria.
Before the driver could shift the transmission into drive, the driver’s side window shattered inward in an explosion of tempered glass.
A gloved hand reached through the jagged opening, gripped the driver’s hair, and pulled his head against the frame while a muffled gunshot echoed through the interior.
The driver went limp instantly.
Mateo shrieked, scrambling across the back seat toward the opposite door.
The door clicked open from the outside.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with gray hair and an assault rifle stepped into the door frame, aiming the barrel directly at Mateo’s nose.
It was Sal.
"Evening, Mateo," the old veteran said, his eyes filled with absolute contempt.
"You always did have poor timing."
Mateo’s bladder gave out right there on the leather.
"Sal! Please! Carlo is already dead! Falcone has the tower! We can work something out—"
"Carlo isn't dead," a female voice spoke from the shadows behind Sal.
Mateo’s eyes widened in sheer horror as I stepped into the dim light of the streetlamp.
I was dressed in black tactical gear, my hair pulled back tightly, Frank’s Glock held steady in my two-handed grip.
"B-Bianca?" Mateo stammered, his mind completely fracturing under the impossibility of the sight.
"Falcone’s hitmen took you out on the bridge! They confirmed the kill!"
"They killed Frank," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"And for that, every man involved will bleed into the concrete."
"Now, you are going to listen to me very carefully, Mateo."
I stepped into the car, pressing the warm barrel of the pistol directly against his forehead.
"Falcone thinks you stole his money and betrayed him to the New York families."
"He has already ordered your execution."
"Your only chance of drawing breath past sunrise depends entirely on how well you play your part in the next fifteen minutes."
Mateo was shaking so violently his teeth were clattering against each other.
"Anything! Bianca, please! I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll do anything you want!"
"Good," I said, pulling a heavy tactical radio from my belt and tossing it into his lap.
"You are going to call Falcone on his encrypted channel."
"You are going to tell him that you captured me alive near the river."
"You are going to tell him that I have the physical flash drive containing the master ledger sewn into my jacket."
"And you are going to tell him that you are bringing me up through the private freight elevator right now to trade for your life."
Mateo swallowed hard, looking down at the radio like it was a venomous snake.
"He will kill me the moment the elevator doors open!"
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"Then you better pray my aim is faster than his," I replied, cocking the hammer of the Glock against his skull.
"Dial."
