Chapter 4 - The Outbreak of War
The retaliation was swift, silent, and devastating.
By Thursday morning, the Chicago underworld was in a state of absolute panic. Three of the Marcone family’s primary distribution warehouses along the Chicago River had been reduced to smoking ash heaps overnight. Two of their largest cargo ships, filled with millions of dollars in unregistered electronic imports, had been seized by federal authorities thanks to an anonymous, highly detailed tip that could only have come from someone with deep intelligence networks.
Don Marcone, a bloated, aging mob boss who had ruled the northern suburbs for two decades, was currently holed up in his fortified mansion in Barrington, surrounded by thirty heavily armed guards.
Matteo sat behind the mahogany desk in his office, his face expressionless as Vincent delivered the morning reports.
"Marcone’s captains are panicking, Boss," Vincent said, a dark smirk playing on his features. "Two of them have already reached out to us through intermediaries, asking for a sit-down. They want to jump ship before the whole syndicate goes under."
"No sit-downs," Matteo said coldly, spinning a heavy gold coin between his fingers—the traditional token of the Reichi family. "Tell them their only choice is unconditional surrender or burial. I am not negotiating with men who allied themselves with a child abuser to take my head."
"What about the press?" Vincent asked. "The warehouse fires made the front page of the Tribune. The police are under pressure to make arrests."
"Let them look at Marcone’s fronts," Matteo said. "The local precinct captains owe me enough favors to keep the investigation pointed away from the North Shore. Focus on the logistics. I want Marcone’s shipping licenses transferred to our dummy corporations by Friday afternoon."
The office doors suddenly flew open, and Mia came running into the room, her small feet thudding against the heavy Persian rug. She was wearing a new set of clothes Mrs. Gable had bought for her—a bright yellow sundress and small white sneakers—and her hair was combed into two neat, bouncy pigtails.
"Matt! Look!" she shouted, holding up a large sheet of paper covered in chaotic, vibrant strokes of blue and green crayon.
Vincent instantly stiffened, his hand moving automatically toward his jacket holster out of sheer habit, before he realized who it was. He looked at Matteo, expecting the boss to roar at the interruption.
Instead, Matteo’s harsh features softened instantly. He caught Mia as she threw herself against his knees, lifting her onto his lap without a second thought.
"What is this, little one?" Matteo asked, taking the drawing from her hands.
"It's the ocean!" Mia said proudly, pointing to a large, wavy blue mass in the center of the paper. "And that's your house on the cliff. And that's you!" She pointed to a tall, stick-figure drawing in the corner, colored entirely in black crayon, holding a tiny yellow shield over a smaller stick figure. "You’re keeping the rain off me."
Matteo stared at the drawing. The lines were simple, the execution childish, but to a man who had spent his entire life surrounded by ledger books, contracts, and death threats, it was the most valuable piece of art in the entire mansion.
"It's beautiful, Mia," Matteo said softly, his large hand gently stroking her hair. "I’ll have Mrs. Gable frame it and hang it right here on the wall."
"Really?" Mia’s eyes sparkled with joy. "Can I make another one for Mama? Mrs. Gable says she’s awake now!"
Matteo’s focus snapped to Vincent, his eyes narrowing.
May you like
Vincent nodded quickly. "Dr. Charles called ten minutes ago, Boss. Sarah Peterson is out of sedation. She’s conscious, alert, and asking for her daughter."
Matteo stood up, keeping Mia cradled securely in one arm. "Get the car ready, Vincent. It's time for a family reunion."
