24. Adriano
Chapter twenty-four
Adriano
Day One of the Deadline—Morning
I lean against the windowsill, my fingers clenched in a tight fist, while watching the Wind River Range of Wyoming. I’d chosen this place because my father hadn’t. He’d favored the forested solitude of the East. But I needed something more brutal.
And that’s why I’m holed up here, in a decommissioned U.S. Geological Survey station. Safe, sound, and buried so deep in bureaucratic obscurity that not even the IRS can trace its deeds. The perfect hideout until I’m able to solve whatever shit is going on.
The coffee on the windowsill runs cold as usual, like every other morning since I’ve been here.
I pull away from the window and set the cup on the steel countertop.
I’ve been in touch with Francesco, trying to unravel the problems—the ex-police commissioner’s family, and the bastard who committed a murder with my identity.
So far, it’s been a fucking goose egg, and that irritates me more than being forced into hiding.
Suddenly, the burner phone on the table vibrates. I quickly pick it up, knowing Francesco is the only one who could call.
“Capo… there’s something you need to see.” He doesn’t sound too pleased. I walk over to the other end of the small space, punch a passcode into the wall, and the steel door opens. Inside, there’s a chair, desk, laptop, and a highly secure server. I don’t hesitate to take my seat.
“What?”
Almost immediately, a video file appears on the screen, and I hit play. The mayor comes into view, smiling like he’s won the lottery. Confusion hits me for a split second.
“Adriano Bellandini, I just wanted to say that I have something you want.”
Then the camera pans, and my blood freezes. There in the chair, bound with thick ropes around her body and duct tape around her mouth, is Elena. Her hair is disheveled, her eyes teary, and the end of her gown ripped. My chest tightens with absolute fury.
I immediately look for any signs that they laid their fucking hands on her, but there’s no scar, blood, or bruise as far as I can see. And then the camera swings back to the mayor’s face.
“Three days,” he continues, unfazed. “You will stop all investigation into our late friend, Marco Bellandini, the ex-commissioner, and the late, unlamented Don Valente.”
My jaw tightens as the pieces click violently into place in my mind.
“Then you’ll present yourself at the old waterfront warehouse on Pier 17. Alone. You’ll be arrested by my men. The public narrative will be perfectly clean.”
My hands shake.
“It’s a pity all your years of revenge have led here.
But I must warn you, try to play the hero, and the beautiful Elena Rossi will be found at the bottom of the East River.
The evidence will be compelling… that you killed the prosecutor and the young lady.
The case will be framed as a crime of passion from a psychotic, jealous lover. ”
Elena’s muffled grunts reach my ears, and I clench my fist, my knuckles blanching as I watch the mayor’s lips pull into a twisted smile.
“The odds are against you, Adriano. And the clock is ticking.”
The video ends, and for a minute, the world narrows down to absolute darkness. All I see is my own fury. Fuck!
A guttural curse rips from my throat as I drive my fist into the steel wall. The impact echoes violently through the small room, but I barely hear it. A chaotic rush of Elena’s terrified face, my mother’s lifeless eyes, and the entire Bellandini family massacre come crashing down all at once.
Fuck!
“Capo, let’s first take a deep breath.”
“How the fuck did you get that video?” My voice is a distorted grunt.
“I received the file a few minutes ago. The number is untraceable.”
My fist tightens around the phone so hard that the casing creaks. A fresh wave of annihilating rage overwhelms me, and I want nothing more than to storm his mansion, guns blazing, and paint his walls with the blood of every single man standing between Elena and me.
But I bet that’s exactly what he expects. He wants me to walk into his perfectly set trap like a wild, predictable animal. I can’t be that stupid…at least not now.
“What’s his involvement in all of this?” I ask, forcing my voice to calm down even as my mind still races.
He demanded we stop the investigation into our late friend. He mentioned everyone from my father to the ex-police commissioner.
Enzo had said the ex-police commissioner brought Caughn to the association, claiming there was a mole in the police system and that he needed their help.
What’s the mayor’s part in all of this? Framing me, then asking me to surrender? Why is my defeat so important to him?
“I don’t know, Capo. But he’s clearly some sort of godfather in all this.”
I nod, walking back to take my seat. I have a deadline, and I still need to find Caughn—the only bastard who can give us answers now.
“We find the fucking family in Utah. They’re the only loose thread he hasn’t snipped yet.” I hope.
Francesco shuffles on the other end. “We’re still stuck, Boss. We can’t find the ex-police commissioner’s family.”
“Walk me through it again. Not what we did. What he did.”
I place the phone on speaker, dropping it beside the computer as I open a map of the Western U.S., zooming into Utah. Now, we have to think like the man who erased them. The ex-commissioner was a powerful man, meticulous, too. He wouldn’t hide his family in plain sight.
Francesco takes a breath before the rapid taps of his fingers against the keyboard fill my ear.
“He resigned quietly two years ago. No big scandal, just family time. His wife, Liza, sells their house in Westchester. The money goes into a trust, then vanishes. The kids are pulled from their private schools…”
He pauses, then continues, “…and after that, nothing. No new home purchases in any name we can trace. No new school records. No credit cards, driver’s licenses, social media, nothing.”
“We’ve contacted the forgers. Our document guys… they can’t trace anything either. We’ve scanned facial recognition on traffic cams in major cities in Utah. Again nothing.”
As I stare at the map of Utah on my screen, a thought occurs to me. What if he didn’t buy them a new life?
“What if he inserted them into an already existing life, Francesco? Somewhere they wouldn’t stand out?”
“We looked at off-grid communities. Churches, survivalist towns… everything. We found nothing, Capo.”
“Of course. We can’t exactly call around asking if anyone has seen a former New York socialite and her kids.”
I lean back in my chair, narrowing my eyes on the screen as my mind barrels down multiple routes.
Then something hits me. Maybe we’ve been stuck because we think he hid them by himself.
A smart man like that wouldn’t want any direct link between him and his family.
He’d go through a middleman. Someone trusted.
Adrenaline surges in my veins as I lean forward, my attention locked on the burner phone. “Who does a powerful man like the ex-police commissioner call when he needs a forever favor?”
The line is silent for a while until Francesco breathes. “Not a friend… a debtor.”
Touché. “Someone he owned.”
“This man spent over half his life in the police system. He put a lot of people behind bars… but he also let some walk away.” The more I speak, the better the idea crystallizes in my head.
“Cross-reference his cases. Look for the ones that ended… smoothly. Non-violent guys, the ones dangerous enough to commit crimes but calm enough to reason, the ones who got suspiciously light sentences. Then see where they ended up…We need someone who retired to a nice, quiet, isolated spot where a new cousin and her kids from back East wouldn’t raise a fucking eyebrow. ”
“That will take a moment, Capo. I’ll ping you as soon as I have something.”
I end the call, dragging my hands down my face as my heart begins to pound fiercely. Something far greater is at stake now—Elena. We have to win. I will never forgive myself if a single hair on her head is touched.
I laugh bitterly at the irony of it all. I spent years plotting to bring her family down. Now I’m calculating how fast I can get back to her. What’s happening to my head? Or maybe the question is… what’s happening to my heart?
I don’t know how long I stay in the room, thoughts boiling through my mind, but when the burner phone vibrates again, I quickly answer it.
“What do you have?”
“There were a lot of people who met the criteria. But one stands out to me. Jeremiah Coulter.”
My fingers tighten around the phone.
“…Jeremiah was a fancy fraud artist; he ran charity scams after a hurricane. Faced twenty years. He gave the ex-commissioner testimony that buried a city councilman, and thereafter walked with just six months of house arrest.”
“House arrest? What house?”
“Says here... family ranch in Moon Hollow, Utah.”
Bingo!
Immediately, I jump into work, clicking until the map zooms in on a tiny dot in the middle of nowhere.
Moon Hollow. My jaw clenches. That’s got to be the fucking place.
The ex-commissioner sent his family to live under the protection of a man whose freedom he owned. Anything happens to them, and the man would be back in prison.
I must give the ex-commissioner his fucking flowers; he was smart. But obviously not that smart.
Clenching my fist, I power off the computer and disconnect the server, grabbing my Glock from a safe below the desk.
“Looks like I’m going to pay Jeremiah a visit.”