Chapter 13
The penthouse atop the 40-story luxury tower in downtown Chicago was silent.
The private elevator chimed. The mirrored doors slid open to reveal Alessandro Romano, flanked by Victor Hale and four heavily armed guards.
The two private security guards Matteo had stationed in the foyer didn't even raise their weapons. One look at Alessandro’s face, and they slowly unbuckled their holsters, placing their guns on the marble console table and stepping aside. They knew who ruled Chicago.
Alessandro walked into the grand living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the storm passing over Lake Michigan.
Sitting in a leather armchair by the roaring fireplace was Uncle Matteo, dressed in a silk robe, sipping a glass of twenty-year-old scotch.
"You didn't bring the Commission," Matteo observed without looking up.
"The Commission doesn't arbitrate family treason, Matteo," Alessandro said, stopping ten feet from the chair. "You know the ancient law."
Matteo took a slow sip of his drink. He set the crystal glass on the side table with a steady hand. "I gave forty years of my life to this family, Alessandro. When your father died, I held the Romano syndicate together with my bare hands. And what did Julian do? He stole five hundred million from our reserve accounts and tried to run off with an Ohio girl."
"He didn't steal it," Alessandro said. "He earned it through the European transport routes. It was his share. He wanted out. And you couldn't stand the thought of a Romano living a normal, clean life."
Matteo sneered. "There is no clean life for people like us! Look at that child! Do you think she can grow up normal with our blood in her veins? She will always be a target!"
"She will be protected," Alessandro said coldly. "Because unlike you, I know the difference between an empire and a family."
Matteo’s eyes darted toward the side table drawer.
Victor raised his rifle with a sharp metallic click. "Don't do it, old man."
Matteo froze. His shoulders sagged, the arrogance finally draining from his weathered face. "So what now, nephew? A bullet in the back of the head? Throw me off the balcony like you did to the Casales?"
"Death is too quick for you, Matteo," Alessandro said calmly. "Vance gave us everything. The offshore shell companies. The illegal payoffs to the federal judges. The hit on Julian’s vehicle."
Alessandro tossed a thick leather folder onto the glass coffee table.
"Every asset you own is seized. Your accounts are frozen. The Commission has already voted—unanimously—to strip you of your title and banish you from Chicago forever."
Matteo stared at the folder, his hands beginning to shake. "Banishment? You're exiling me?"
"You leave on a cargo ship to South America at dawn," Alessandro said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "If your foot ever touches American soil again, Victor won't stop with a warning. You will die alone in the dirt, forgotten."
Alessandro turned on his heel and walked toward the elevator.
"Alessandro!" Matteo shouted, desperate and broken. "You think you won? You think Julian is the only secret this family kept from you?"
Alessandro paused at the elevator doors, but did not turn around.
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"You don't know half of what your brother was doing before he died!" Matteo laughed hysterically. "Check the safe in his Milan apartment! Check it if you dare!"
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off Matteo’s laughter.
