Chapter 11 - The Wife's Trade
The meatpacking district was abandoned at midnight. The smell of cold concrete and old blood hung heavy in the air.
I stepped out of my town car, the chill cutting through my wool coat. I wasn't wearing my usual pearls or silk. I wore flat shoes and a dark trench coat.
Two massive men in cheap suits stepped out of the shadows. They didn't frisk me. They knew who I was.
“Mrs. Moretti,” the larger one grunted. “The boss is waiting.”
They escorted me into a dimly lit warehouse. In the center of the room, sitting at a folding table, was Paulie “The Greek” Varga, the head of the Commission.
Dominic was kneeling on the concrete floor in front of him, his hands zip-tied behind his back. His face was bruised.
“Rose!” Dominic shouted, struggling against his restraints. “Get out of here! Are you insane?”
Paulie smiled, gesturing to an empty metal folding chair across from him. “Sit down, Rose. Your husband was just explaining why he shouldn't be fed to the pigs for bringing the FBI to our front door.”
I didn't sit. I walked right up to the table.
“Dominic broke the rules,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “He used explosives. He involved the feds. He is a liability.”
Dominic stared at me, sheer betrayal flashing in his eyes. “Rose, what are you doing?”
Paulie raised an eyebrow. “So, the wife agrees with the Commission. That’s a first. You here to watch him die, Rose?”
“I’m here to buy his life,” I said.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out Sophia’s diamond necklace. I tossed it onto the table. It sparkled under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Paulie laughed. “You think a hundred grand in diamonds buys a man’s life at this table?”
“No,” I said. “But the flash drive hidden inside the pendant buys your freedom.”
Paulie stopped laughing.
“My husband is a paranoid man,” I explained, not breaking eye contact with the mob boss. “He didn't trust Sophia, so he used her jewelry to hide his insurance policies. That flash drive contains the offshore routing numbers for Vincent Rossi’s entire slush fund. Over fifty million dollars. Untraceable.”
The reversal hit the room. Dominic looked at me in shock. He hadn't known about the drive. I had found it when I cracked the pendant open in the hospital bathroom. Sophia hadn't run because she was scared; she ran because she knew she possessed the money.
“Fifty million,” Paulie mused, picking up the necklace. He snapped the pendant open. The tiny black drive fell into his palm.
“You take the money,” I said, my voice turning to steel. “You let Vincent rot in federal prison. And you let Dominic walk away. He steps down. He retires. The Moretti family is out of the business forever.”
Paulie looked at the drive, then at Dominic kneeling on the floor.
“She’s offering you a golden parachute, Paulie,” Dominic said, his voice raspy. “Take it. I’m done.”
Paulie pocketed the drive. He signaled his men. A knife flashed, and the zip-ties around Dominic’s wrists were cut.
“You’re a ghost, Moretti,” Paulie warned. “I ever see your face in Chicago again, I’ll kill your whole bloodline.”
Dominic stood up, rubbing his wrists. He looked at me, a profound mix of awe and shame in his eyes.
“Let’s go home,” I said.
We walked out of the warehouse, leaving the darkness behind. As we got into the town car, Dominic reached over and took my trembling hand.
May you like
“You saved my life,” he whispered.
I looked out the window at the passing city lights. “I saved my family,” I corrected.
