Chapter 8 - The Snake in the Garden
The peace was shattered on a cold Tuesday in November.
I was leaving my economics lecture at Northwestern when a black town car pulled up beside the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Marco's anxious face.
"Get in, Audrey," Marco said, his voice flat and urgent. "Now."
My heart dropped. "What happened? Is it my mother?"
"Your mother is safe at the estate. It's Joseph," Marco said, unlocking the door. "There's been a betrayal."
I scrambled into the back seat as the car sped away. "Who betrayed him?"
"Dominic," Marco spat, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "He was working for Victor Moretti—Leo's younger brother. Victor came back from Europe two weeks ago. Dominic gave him the security codes to Joseph's private downtown residence."
"Is Joseph hurt?" I demanded, terror gripping my chest.
"He took two shots to the shoulder during the ambush," Marco said grimly. "We managed to get him out, but Victor has taken control of the Salvini headquarters on Michigan Avenue. He's calling a meeting of all six Chicago families tonight to declare himself the new head of the commission."
"Where is Joseph now?"
"In a safe clinic under the Italian district," Marco replied. "He's refusing treatment until he sees you."
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the subterranean garage of an unassuming medical supply warehouse. Inside a sterile, white-tiled room, Joseph sat on an examination table, his shirt stripped off, a doctor wrapping thick white bandages around his torso.
He looked pale, his face slick with cold sweat, but his eyes burned with a dark, fierce fire.
"Audrey," Joseph rasped as I rushed to his side.
"You're hurt!" I cried, grabbing his hand. "Joseph, you need a hospital!"
"No hospitals," Joseph growled, dismissing the doctor with a wave of his hand. "If the city finds out I'm wounded, the other families will side with Victor. Power in Chicago is built on perception."
"What are you going to do?" I asked, tears forming in my eyes.
"Victor is holding a summit tonight at the Grand Hotel," Joseph said, his voice cold and precise. "He thinks I am dying in a gutter somewhere. He thinks he has won."
He reached into his coat pocket sitting on the tray beside him and pulled out an old silver pocket watch, pressing it into my hand.
"If I don't walk out of that hotel tonight, Audrey," Joseph whispered, "take your mother and fly to Switzerland. Marco has the accounts. You will be safe, wealthy, and far away from this curse."
"No," I said, squeezing his hand tight. "I'm not letting you go alone."
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"Audrey—"
"You said I'm your family," I interrupted, staring straight into his dark eyes. "Family doesn't let each other walk into a trap."
