Chapter 16 - The Phantom of Interstate 55
The drive back north toward Chicago was drowned in a sudden, violent downpour.
Rain hammered against the windshield of the Mercedes in deafening sheets, the wipers struggling to clear the blur of red taillights.
In the passenger seat, Mateo worked through three encrypted cell phones simultaneously.
"The Cook County sheriff’s department buried the incident report," Mateo said, holding a tablet toward me.
"Three deputies were found dead in an access ditch off Interstate 55 near Joliet."
"Point-blank execution wounds behind the ear; professional military precision."
"And Bianca?" I asked, keeping both hands steady on the wheel at eighty miles per hour.
"The transport van was torched with thermite," Mateo said.
"No dental remains matching her profile were found inside the frame."
"She didn't run to an airport," I murmured, watching the highway signs flash past in the gray storm.
"If Don Bellini orchestrated her extraction, she’s still in Illinois."
"Why would Bellini risk an open war with the Romano syndicate over a broken pawn?" Mateo asked.
"Because Bianca holds the offshore routing numbers for Enzo’s hidden secondary treasury," I replied.
"Twelve million dollars stashed in Panamanian bearer accounts that weren't listed in the federal liquidation."
"With that capital, the Bellinis can buy out the entire dockworkers' union on the south shore."
My personal phone buzzed in the center console.
The screen flashed an unknown, unlisted number from the 312 area code.
I tapped the speaker button.
"Elena," a familiar, silky voice purred through the car speakers over the roar of the rain.
It was Bianca Rossi.
Her voice lacked the hysterical, crying tone she had used during her arrest at the penthouse.
It was cold, measured, and dripping with venomous triumph.
"You looked so stunning at the cemetery, darling," Bianca said softly.
"Burning that wedding photograph was a lovely, theatrical touch; Enzo always said you were dramatic."
"You shouldn't have stayed in Chicago, Bianca," I replied evenly.
"A fugitive usually puts an ocean between herself and the gallows."
"Why would I run when everything your father built is about to burn?" Bianca laughed, a low, melodic sound.
"Did you really think Enzo was the brains of the operation?"
"Enzo was a vain, insecure boy who needed a woman to tell him how to tie his shoes."
"I gave him the ambition; Marco gave him the opportunity."
"And who gave you the poison, Bianca?" I asked, signaling Mateo to initiate a cellular trace.
Bianca paused, her breath catching slightly before she chuckled.
"You think you’re so clever because you found the Swiss paper," she whispered.
"Look outside your window, Elena."
I glanced toward the left lane.
A commercial flatbed tow truck with reinforced steel bull bars was accelerating rapidly through the storm, matching our speed.
Its heavy high-beams flashed twice in the blinding rain.
May you like
"Turn the wheel!" Mateo screamed, reaching across the console.
***
