Chapter 3 - The Broken Syndicate
By Tuesday morning, the tremors from Amara's departure had turned into a full-scale earthquake within the Chicago underworld.
In the mahogany-paneled boardroom of the Moretti Import Company, six of the region's most powerful syndicate captains sat around a massive table. At the head of the table sat Dante Moretti. His eyes were bloodshot, his tie was loosened, and his jaw was covered in two days' worth of dark stubble. Beside him sat Selena, looking pale and deeply uncomfortable in a tailored dress that looked far too big for her.
"What do you mean the payroll didn't clear?" barked Frank Rossi, the oldest captain at the table, slamming his heavy fist onto the polished wood. "My men guard the docks on the South Side, Dante! They don't work for free promises! They work for cash!"
"It's a temporary banking error," Dante growled, his voice thick with frustration. "The automated clearance system flagged the transfer. Julian is resolving it."
"Julian isn't answering his phone!" another captain snapped. "I called his office this morning. His secretary told me he resigned as chief legal counsel for the firm effective midnight on Sunday!"
A wave of panicked murmurs broke out across the table.
Selena cleared her throat, trying to project authority. "Gentlemen, please. Dante is working tirelessly to fix this minor administrative issue. There is no need for panic—"
"Shut up, girl!" Frank Rossi snarled, pointing a thick finger at her. "Who gave you permission to speak at this table? You’re the reason this whole family is falling apart! Amara was Oldo’s chosen daughter! She kept the books clean! She made sure our pensions were paid! You’re just a mistress taking up space!"
Selena flinched, turning her face toward Dante, expecting him to defend her honor, to threaten Rossi the way he used to threaten anyone who disrespected his inner circle.
But Dante said nothing.
He couldn't.
Rossi was right. Amara had managed the family's philanthropic foundations, the pension funds for retired soldiers, and the corporate fronts that laundered sixty percent of their annual revenue. Dante had assumed those systems ran on autopilot. He had never realized that Amara spent four hours every morning reviewing invoices, verifying wire transfers, and smoothing over disputes with local politicians.
"Where is she, Dante?" Rossi asked, leaning across the table, his eyes burning with intense suspicion. "Where is Amara?"
"She's taking some personal time," Dante muttered, refusing to look Rossi in the eye.
"She left you," Rossi corrected coldly. "She left you because you brought this bimbo into Oldo’s house. And when she left, she took the keys to the kingdom."
Rossi stood up, buttoning his jacket. "My men aren't lifting another crate at the docks until our money is in our accounts. If you can't control your own household, Dante, you certainly can't control this city."
One by one, the other five captains stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Dante sitting in complete, suffocating silence.
Selena reached out to touch his arm. "Dante, baby... it's okay. We don't need them. You're the boss. You can just replace them—"
Dante turned on her so fast she gasped. His hand grabbed her wrist, not with physical violence, but with a cold, terrifying grip that made her shrink back.
"Get out," Dante said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"What?" Selena stammered, tears springing to her eyes. "Dante, I love you! I stood by you for years while you were married to her!"
"You stood by me when I was paying for your luxury apartment on Michigan Avenue!" Dante spat, throwing her wrist down. "Amara didn't leave because she was weak, Selena. She left because she knew I was stupid enough to choose you over the woman who was actually keeping me alive. Get out of my sight before I lose my temper."
Selena scrambled out of her chair, her heels clicking frantically against the floor as she fled the room.
May you like
Dante slumped back into his chair, pulling his phone from his pocket. He dialed a private number he hadn't used in six years—a number belonging to the most dangerous private intelligence broker in the Midwest.
"I need a trace," Dante commanded the moment the call connected. "Find Amara Moretti. I don't care how much it costs. Find her, and bring her to me."
