Chapter 30
The room falls into silence as I close the heavy oak doors of the meeting room behind me. Every chair around the table is filled by a man who’s killed, protected, or bled for the Marchetti name. And tonight, they’re all looking to me for direction.
Lars sits at my right, arms crossed. To my left, Tomaso, one of our most seasoned logistics men, leans forward with his hands folded tight. Across from him, Niko, our head of street operations, eyes the folder in front of him like it’s about to catch fire.
“I want everything,” I say, my voice cutting through the air. “Every movement. Every whisper. Every breath we’ve tracked since Zara disappeared.”
Tomaso clears his throat and opens the file. “We’ve combed through every route out of the hospital, checked camera footage from the garage, the service exits, loading bays. She didn’t leave through a public entrance. She was taken out a side door by the loading dock.”
“By who?” Lars asks, his jaw tight.
“We couldn’t confirm identities, but the working theory is Kavanagh men. It was clean. Professional. They knew where the blind spots were.”
Lars leans forward. “So it was a clean snatch. Planned. Quiet. And fast.”
“Yes,” I say. “Which tells us they wanted her alive.”
Silence stretches for a beat.
“Falco’s name has come up,” says Niko, flipping open a smaller file. “There’s been chatter from Philly—quiet activity out west near our border. Some trucks were moving without registration, but we traced a few shell companies. Falco money. Nothing aggressive, but enough to notice.”
That draws every eye in the room.
“Philadelphia doesn’t move into Chicago without an invitation,” Tomaso says. “Not unless there’s a war brewing.”
“Or a marriage,” Lars mutters.
I turn toward him sharply. “What did you say?”
He meets my eyes. “We’ve seen it before. When two families can’t dominate another, they marry. Forge something new. A third stronger branch. Zara disappears. Falco starts creeping into our region. Kavanagh needs leverage to take us down.”
My fingers tap the table. Once. Twice. Thought spirals fast and tight.
“She’s the link,” I say. “The Kavanaghs don’t have the numbers to outgun us. But with Falco’s muscle? Their access? That could shift the balance. Especially if the union is public.”
“They’re building alliances,” Niko says. “And they’re going to use her to do it.”
“She’s Kavanagh blood,” Tomaso recalls. “Even if she doesn’t want to be.”
“She’s mine,” I say. “And they’ve made a mistake thinking she’s a pawn they can control.”
Lars nods once. “If this is about a wedding, the timeline is short. We’ll hear noise soon. Announcements. Celebration moves. They’ll go loud to show strength.”
“Then we don’t give them the chance,” I say. “We find out where she is and burn the plan down before it starts.”
“We’ll need more than brute force,” Tomaso adds. “This has layers. Public relations. Strategic partnerships. Money. Influence. The Falcos don’t move without cover.”
“Then we match them,” I say. “But quieter. Smarter. We tap into our allies on the east coast. Track every Falco movement. Intercept any alliance meetings. And leak information where it’ll hurt the most.”
Lars uncrosses his arms, leaning into the table. “We take away their confidence. Piece by piece.”
I nod. “Start with their transport lines. I want two convoys hit by the weekend. No blood if possible, but they’ll get the message. And I want somebody close enough to smell the cologne on Anthony Falco’s neck.”
I leave the room, satisfied, knowing my men are at work.