Chapter 30 Silvo
SILVO
The basement air hangs thick with anticipation as I descend the stairs. Lorenzo waits at the bottom, arms folded across his chest. He made the trip up from Miami specifically for this.
“Where is he?” My voice echoes against the concrete walls.
Lorenzo nods toward the steel door at the end of the hallway. “Secured. Paulie’s with him.”
I roll up my sleeves methodically, one after the other. “How much did he resist?”
“Enough to earn the split lip he’s sporting.” Lorenzo falls into step beside me. “Fed tracked him down in Atlantic City. A one-way ticket to Argentina was already purchased.”
My jaw tightens. Argentina—where organized crime figures disappear when they need to lay low. Luca knew exactly what he was doing.
The door creaks open to reveal Luca Vega strapped to a metal chair, blood trickling from his mouth. His eyes widen when he sees me, then Lorenzo behind me.
“Boss, there’s been a misunderstanding—”
My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish. The crack reverberates through the room.
“Three months ago.” I pull out the photograph Carmela found—Luca standing with a man outside the Sapphire Club. “You and this man. We’ve identified him as Alexei Tartarov’s nephew, Dimitri.”
I circle him slowly, letting the silence build. “Funny, because when Carlos told you about our meeting location, you called in sick. Food poisoning, wasn’t it?”
Luca’s face goes pale. “I was sick—”
“Bullshit.” I slam the photo down on a metal tray beside him. “You fed our location to someone. The question is who—and why.”
“They have my family,” Luca blurts out, his voice cracking. “My mother, my sister—they’re in Moscow. Tartarov’s people grabbed them six months ago.”
I exchange a glance with Lorenzo. This is new information.
“Tartarov?” I lean against the wall, reassessing. “Not the Morettis?”
Luca shakes his head frantically. “The Russians. They approached me last year when I was visiting family in Spain. Showed me photos of my mother and sister. Said if I didn’t cooperate, they’d kill them both.”
I grab his throat, forcing him to meet my eyes. “And you believed them?”
“I saw the photos, boss. They had them. My mother’s apartment, my sister’s work—they knew everything.” Tears stream down his face. “What would you have done?”
The question hits harder than I expect. I think of Carmela, of how far I’d go to protect her. Of the choices I’d make if someone threatened her life.
I release him, my mind racing. If Luca’s telling the truth, then Tartarov’s operation is far more sophisticated than we realized. Infiltrating our organization by leveraging family—it’s exactly what I’d do.
“What information did you give them?” I demand.
“Schedules. Meeting locations. Shipment routes.” Luca’s words tumble out faster now. “But I swear, they told me they were Moretti associates. They wore crests, used the lion symbols, and spoke Italian.”
I circle behind him, processing this. “Well they weren’t.”
“I know that now,” he chokes out. “They played me.”
Lorenzo steps forward, his face hard. “Why should we believe you?”
“Because I’m telling you everything!” Luca’s voice rises in desperation. “Tartarov has people in both families. Not just ours—the Morettis too. He’s been feeding intelligence to both sides, making each family think the other is behind the attacks.”
The pieces start falling into place. The spray-painted crests. The obviously planted evidence—that Moretti cufflink at the crime scene. The attacks that seemed too perfect, too calculated to be genuine Moretti operations.
“How many others?” I ask quietly. “How many people in my organization are compromised?”
“I don’t know,” Luca admits. “Tartarov compartmentalized everything. I only knew my part—feeding information about Miami operations and Lorenzo’s schedule. But he mentioned having assets in Philadelphia, New York, even inside the Moretti organization.”
I pull out my phone, texting Fed: Need you in the basement. Now.
“The Morettis,” I say slowly, the full picture emerging. “They think we’ve been attacking them.”
“Yes,” Luca confirms. “That’s exactly what Tartarov wants. While you two destroy each other, he moves in and takes over both territories. He’s been playing this game for at least a year, maybe longer.”
Lorenzo curses viciously in Italian. “That manipulative bastard.”
Fed appears at the door moments later, taking in the scene with sharp eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Luca just confirmed what Carmela suspected,” I tell him. “The attacks aren’t Moretti operations. They’re Tartarov’s false flag—designed to reignite our war while he expands into our territories.”
Fed’s expression hardens. “Son of a bitch.”
I turn back to Luca, studying his face for any sign of deception. “These people holding your family—where are they?”
“I don’t know exactly. Moscow somewhere. They send me photos every week to prove they’re still alive.” His voice breaks. “Please, boss. I know I fucked up. But I was trying to protect them.”
I study him for a long moment. Part of me wants to put a bullet in his head for the betrayal—nine good men died because of the information he leaked. Lorenzo nearly died. Carlos took a bullet in the shoulder. I took one myself.
But another part—the part that loves Carmela, that understands what it means to protect family—sees the impossible position he was in.
“Tell me about the communication methods,” I say. “How does Tartarov contact you?”
“Encrypted messages through a burner app,” Luca says quickly, eager to cooperate now. “Different phone each time. He has me destroy them after every communication.”
“But you kept records,” I guess, seeing it in his eyes.
He nods. “Screenshots. Backed up to a cloud account. I knew I might need proof someday that I was coerced.”
Smart. Stupid for betraying us, but smart for covering his ass.
“Lorenzo,” I say finally. “Contact our people in Moscow. Find Luca’s family. I want them extracted within forty-eight hours.”
Luca’s head snaps up, hope flooding his face. “You mean—”
“I mean, we’re going to get your family out of Tartarov’s reach,” I interrupt. “But you’re going to earn it. You’re going to tell us everything you know about his operation. Every contact, every meeting, every piece of intelligence you passed along. Names, dates, locations—all of it.”
“Yes,” Luca says quickly. “Anything. I’ll tell you everything.”
“And then,” I continue, my voice dropping to a deadly calm, “you’re going to help us feed false information back to Tartarov. Make him think his infiltration is still working.”
Fed catches on immediately. “A double agent.”
“Exactly.” I cross my arms, looking down at Luca. “You’re going to help us destroy the man who’s been using you. Give us access to those encrypted communications. Every message he sends, we’ll see. Every order he gives, we’ll know about in advance.”
“I will,” Luca promises, fresh tears streaming down his face. “I swear on my mother’s life, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”
I nod to Paulie to release him from the chair. Luca slumps forward, rubbing his wrists where the restraints bit into his skin.
“Fed, get him cleaned up and into a secure room upstairs. I want a full debrief—everything he knows about Tartarov’s operation, organizational structure, communication methods, everyone he’s met or heard mentioned.
” I turn to Lorenzo. “And get our Moscow contacts moving on his family. I want confirmation they’re located before we trust anything else he tells us. ”
“On it, boss,” Lorenzo says, already pulling out his phone.
As they lead Luca out, Fed lingers behind, closing the door. “You believe him?”
“About being coerced? Yes.” I lean against the concrete wall, my shoulder throbbing. “About wanting to make it right? We’ll see. But right now, he’s our best source of intelligence on Tartarov’s operation.”
“And if he’s lying?” Fed’s voice is flat, tactical.
“Then he joins the other traitors in unmarked graves.” I push off the wall, heading for the stairs. “But my gut says he’s telling the truth. Tartarov’s playing a much bigger game than we realized—and he’s damn good at it.”
Fed follows me up. “We need to tell the Morettis.”
“I know.” I pause on the landing. “But not until we have everything confirmed. Luca’s testimony, his family’s extraction, the financial trail Carmela found. We go to Nico with irrefutable proof, or we don’t go at all.”
“How long will that take?”
“Forty-eight hours, maybe seventy-two.” I resume climbing. “Tell Marco to start preparing a legal brief—something that shows the pattern of false flag operations. We need documentation that even Nico’s most suspicious capo can’t dismiss.”
“You really think this will work? That we can convince them we’ve been played?”
I reach the top of the stairs, pausing before opening the door. “It has to work, Fed. Because if it doesn’t, if we can’t unite against Tartarov...” I don’t need to finish the sentence.
We both know what happens if we fail. More bloodshed. More bodies. The complete destruction of both families, while Tartarov picks up the pieces.
“Get started on the debrief,” I tell him. “I want everything documented—video recorded, transcribed, cross-referenced with our existing intelligence. Nothing left to chance.”
Fed nods and heads down the hallway toward the secure rooms. I stand there for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Nine men dead. Both families infiltrated. A Russian puppet master pulling strings we didn’t even know existed.
I pull out my phone and open the security app, checking the feeds throughout the house. I find Carmela in my office, still analyzing intelligence reports, determination etched across her beautiful face. My heart aches at the sight of her.
She’s hunched over the laptop, her hair falling forward as she types notes, completely absorbed in her work. Even exhausted, even after being awake for over twenty-four hours, she pushes forward. For me. For us. For the family she didn’t choose but has claimed as her own.
I zoom in slightly on the feed, watching as she reaches for her coffee mug, takes a sip, then makes a face—probably gone cold hours ago. She sets it aside and continues working, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
This woman. This incredible, fierce, brilliant woman.
For the first time in my life, I have something truly precious to lose. Not just territory or power or legacy—but her. The thought of Tartarov’s men getting anywhere near Carmela makes my blood run cold.
I close the app and head toward my office, my resolve hardening with each step. Whatever it takes—whatever alliance I need to forge, whatever enemy I need to destroy—I’ll protect her. Protect what we’ve built.
Because Carmela isn’t just my wife anymore. She’s my entire world.
And I’ll burn everything to the ground before I let anyone take her from me.