Chapter 4 - The Bloodhound of the Syndicate
Back in Chicago, Vincent Moretti was tearing his empire apart from the inside out to find his missing wife.
He sat at the head of the heavy oak conference table in his underground security bunker beneath the Moretti Logistics warehouse.
Standing before him were his top lieutenants, fixers, and digital intelligence experts, all sweating profusely under his terrifying glare.
Find her, Vincent snarled, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the heavy oak shuddered.
I don't care if she took a private jet to Europe or walked across the Canadian border on foot.
I want every traffic camera, toll booth record, and cell tower ping cross-referenced within the last forty-eight hours.
His primary tech specialist, a jittery young hacker named Leo, pushed his glasses up his nose with trembling fingers.
Boss, we checked her personal credit cards and her corporate accounts.
There’s been zero activity since yesterday morning.
She didn't use her passport, she didn't book any commercial flights under her name, and her car hasn't been picked up by any automated license plate readers on the interstate highways.
Vincent stood up slowly, towering over his men like an impending thunderstorm.
She didn't vanish into thin air, Leo.
People leave footprints unless they have professional help.
Who helped her?
Before Leo could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the concrete corridor outside the bunker.
The reinforced steel door swung open, and Dante Moretti, Vincent’s ruthless older brother and syndicate enforcer, strode into the room with a thick manila envelope in his hand.
You can stop tearing your hair out looking for ghosts, little brother, Dante said dryly, tossing the envelope onto the center of the table.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed instantly as he stared at the familiar gold-embossed seal of a high-powered legal firm stamped across the paper.
What is this?
Dante crossed his arms, a grim smirk playing on his lips.
That, my dear brother, was hand-delivered to your executive office thirty minutes ago by a process server escorted by two federal marshals.
Your wife didn't just run away.
She filed for a total dissolution of marriage, demanded an immediate asset freeze, and slapped you with a restraining order that prohibits you from coming within five hundred feet of her or her medical records.
Vincent ripped the envelope open, his eyes scanning the legal legalese at lightning speed.
His vision blurred as he read the clauses regarding irreconcilable differences, financial reparations, and sole custody stipulations.
She didn't mention the pregnancy in the initial filing, Dante noted quietly, watching his brother’s reaction closely.
Which means she’s either keeping our future heir as leverage, or she’s planning to cut you out of the child’s life permanently before the birth certificate is ever signed.
Vincent’s chair crashed backward onto the concrete floor as he stood up, his dark eyes burning with pure, unadulterated fury.
May you like
Saddle up the cars.
We are going to Milwaukee.
