Chapter 6 - The Fall of Bianca Russo
In the soundproofed basement beneath a decommissioned slaughterhouse on Chicago’s south edge, the smell of damp concrete and iron was overwhelming.
Dante Romano stood under a solitary halogen bulb, smoking a cigarette. His black tailored suit was immaculate, though his white shirt was open at the collar. His eyes were dead—two hollow pits of ice.
Tied to an iron chair in the center of the room was Bianca Russo.
Her emerald silk dress from that fateful dinner was ripped and stained with dirt. Her mascara had run down her cheeks in black streaks. The diamond bracelet Dante had purchased in Paris lay in pieces on the concrete floor, crushed beneath the heel of his leather boot.
"I gave you everything," Bianca sobbed, her body trembling violently. "My family... our connections... I could have given you an empire, Dante! Why do you care about her? She was an ordinary girl! She didn't understand your world!"
Dante exhaled a thin stream of smoke. He walked slowly toward her, crouched down until his eyes were level with hers.
"Emma knew nothing of our world," Dante said, his voice a lethal, vibrating hum. "And that was the only sacred thing I had left. When I walked through the door of my home, her voice washed the blood off my hands. She didn't look at me and see power, or money, or terror. She saw her husband."
"She abandoned you!" Bianca spat, a desperate flash of defiance in her eyes. "She left you like a coward!"
Dante reached out, his thumb pressing hard against the bruise on Bianca’s cheek—the mark Emma had left behind. Bianca gasped in pain.
"She didn't abandon me," Dante corrected coldly. "I drove her away. I allowed a snake to crawl into my house, and I struck the woman carrying my soul."
He stood up, looking at Marco, who was waiting in the shadows by the iron door.
"Is the Russo family broken?" Dante asked.
"Completely," Marco replied. "Her father signed over all port deeds forty minutes ago in exchange for his life. He is fleeing to Italy by nightfall. The Moretti syndicate has pulled back all operatives from our borders. They know if they take a single step into Chicago, it means total extermination."
Dante nodded once. He flicked his cigarette onto the concrete floor and stamped it out.
"Dante! Please! What are you going to do to me?!" Bianca shrieked as he turned to leave.
Dante didn't turn back. "You wanted to trade in human lives, Bianca. You will spend the rest of yours in a federal penitentiary for grand treason and syndicate racketeering. The federal prosecutor will receive the unredacted files tomorrow morning. You will never see the sun without iron bars in front of your face."
"Dante! You can't do this to me!"
The heavy steel door slammed shut, cutting off her screams.
Outside, the freezing rain had turned into a thick, swirling snow. Dante stood beside his black town car, his coat collar turned up against the biting wind.
Marco stepped up beside him. "Boss. We tracked the burner phone that sent Emma the text message on the night she left."
Dante spun around, his eyes blazing. "Who sent it?"
Marco swallowed hard. "It pinged from inside your mother’s private residence."
Dante’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles knotted. He looked up at the gray Chicago sky. His mother. She had helped Emma escape. She knew Dante would tear the continent apart looking for his wife, and she had facilitated her flight anyway.
"Go to my mother," Dante said through gritted teeth. "Tell her... tell her she won the first move. But tell her that I will not stop until I bring my daughter home."
"Your daughter?" Marco looked surprised.
Dante pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket—an ultrasound report he had recovered from Emma’s private vanity drawer that morning. The doctor’s handwritten note at the bottom read: *Healthy baby girl. Estimated arrival: December 24th.*
Christmas Eve.
May you like
"Two weeks," Dante whispered, looking out into the blinding white storm. "She’s giving birth in two weeks, Marco. And I am going to find her before she takes her first breath."
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