Chapter 51
CHRISTIAN
I haven’t spoken to Dante since I was sent to liaise with him in the search for Carmela three days ago. The streets of Chicago are crawling with our soldiers, and everyone is under scrutiny. Our world has been reduced to a powder keg with a lit fuse burning down fast—an explosion is inevitable.
I’m at Ettore’s club in the surveillance room with Jero, Peter, and Rocco.
Ettore is in his office next door with his brother Bosco.
Raised voices have been coming from that direction and the occasional thud as Ettore throws shit around.
He’s met with all his capos over the last few days.
From what I can glean, every one of them got reamed like this was somehow their fault.
He threatened to shoot Rocco yesterday.
I mean, I’d have shot the hapless fuck already.
The atmosphere is tense all around.
The house where I dropped the parcel uses a security company, and its recordings are deleted after twenty-four hours.
They had already been wiped before Ettore’s men could get access.
The rest of the private cameras on that side of the street were blocked by the trees.
But a few hours ago, we got CCTV footage from a house across the street, the only property with an unobstructed view.
Fucking great.
They already knew a man had taken her in a white delivery van—Angela told them, but now they have pictures to prove it.
The ants are crawling.
Since that footage turned up, they haven’t fucking stopped.
It’s currently up on the monitor. Rocco is writing shit down with an actual notepad and pen. Who even uses paper anymore?
I always thought of myself as pretty unfazed. But the ants never lie, and sitting in a room looking at an image, as shit as it is, is an exercise in nerves.
I know it’s me.
How do they not recognize it’s me?
Jero is sitting beside me, drumming his fingers erratically against the desk.
“Angela is six feet tall, right?” Peter says. “And he’s gotta be a couple of inches taller than her. Well built, young, clean-shaven. Can’t be that many men who fit that description.”
“Fucking hundreds of them,” I mutter.
“Hundreds? Who could choke out a former Marine and lug her into the back of the car without missing a beat? That’s someone with training,” Peter says.
I wish he would shut the fuck up.
Jero is still tapping out a weird, discordant rhythm.
“Would you stop that, please?” Rocco says, swiping his hand across his brow. “You’re giving me a headache.”
I’m confident that was down to Ettore wrapping his fingers around his throat earlier, but whatever.
“Sorry, mate,” Jero says. “And you’re right, Peter. Not many would fit that profile.”
He’s not looking at me. But it feels like his statement is directed at me.
I’ve been playing a double agent since the start. It didn’t sound so dramatic at the beginning, but today and now, it kind of does.
I can’t pull out. Disappearing suddenly would likely draw attention to Dante, or at the least suddenly throw me and everything I’ve done under a spotlight, which would also lead back to Dante.
And if anything leads this back to him in other ways, he’ll need a warning.
I’m the only way he’s going to get that.
Mateo gave me his number and told me to message him whenever possible so that they know I’m good.
When he came over here with Dante and we were chatting at the bar, it turned out he supports the same football team as me.
It’s as good a cover as any, and we have a code phrase if something goes south.
But I’m trapped.
I never felt it before.
My neck is tight and itchy like someone has slipped a noose around it.
Rocco pauses the video for what feels like the millionth time.
It’s me… how the fuck do they not see it?!
“How many do you have on the list so far?” Peter asks Rocco.
He’s profiling people who could have done this.
Thank fuck he’s shit.
“Three,” Rocco says.
Three? I can think of half a dozen myself.
“I don’t understand why someone hasn’t contacted us yet,” Rocco says. “Unless she orchestrated her own disappearance… Do you think she orchestrated her own disappearance?”
He’s supposed to be a fucking consigliere, why is he asking us?
“I’m just Jero’s shadow,” I say.
Jero gives me a sharp look. I keep reminding myself of that conversation where he implied he was on team Christian and Dante. But I’ve been bluffing like a pro for two years, and it’s possible Jero is too.
He covered for me when he caught me putting my hands on Carmela.
He covered for her meeting with Dante.
I’m certain Ettore would have already started pulling my fingernails if he knew either of those things, but this is seat of your pants flying, and I can’t be fucking sure.
“Nothing is off the table at this point.” Jero’s eyes go to the door where the voices have once more risen to a roar—sounds like Bosco is giving it back to Ettore.
“It could be anyone, and they could be waiting for any number of reasons, including to fuck with Ettore. We’re wasting time here.
Give us the names you’ve got. Christian and I will have a gander. Keep working on the rest.”
Rocco tears out a piece of paper from the pad and pushes it across the desk toward us.
A loud thump sounds on the other side of Ettore’s office door.
Rocco sends us a frantic pleading look as Jero glances at the paper and shoves it deep into his pocket.
Jero doesn’t look back, and neither do I.
It’s late and dark outside when I pull out of the parking garage. It’s been raining and the streets are slick and wet.
“Anything you want to tell me, mate?” Jero asks.
“No, don’t think there is.”
The ants finally calm down.
He doesn’t ask me more.