Chapter 182

NICO

As two FBI guys push me down the hospital hallway, the chilly metal of handcuffs stings my wrists. Every instinct begs me to fight, to flee and get back to Jasmine and our kids, but I know resistance will only make things worse for them.

"You have the right to remain silent," Agent Morrison says monotonously as we approach the elevator. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

I block off his voice as my thoughts go over possible exits and chances. Our movement is tracked by the hospital's security cameras, but I know precisely which ones have blind spots. At last, my years of preparation for events like this could prove valuable.

Chen enters the elevator with me, saying, "Smart move, not fighting back there. Shows you actually care about that woman and those babies."

“More than you could ever grasp.”

"Oh, I know exactly. She presses the button for the parking garage. You view them as your belongings. Your inheritance. Like every other mafia leader who persuades himself that possession equals love.”

The elevator goes down in a lot of quiet tension. I am shocked to see only one black SUV waiting instead of the usual convoy when the doors open. Either they are overly confident or this is a trick.

I inquire as they lead me toward the car, “Where is the rest of your escort?”

"Budget cuts." Morrison opens the back door. "Don't worry, Ferrari. We'll get you to holding safely."

Something doesn't seem quite right. Federal agents in my experience never move high-value items with little protection. I look around the parking garage and find it strange that there aren't any other police officers.

I see the driver's reflection in the rearview mirror as Morrison forces me into the back seat. The face is recognizable, but I have to think for a minute to remember Vincent Caruso, one of my own guys. He is meant to be in Chicago managing territory conflicts.

Morrison occupies the passenger seat as Chen glides in next to me. "Comfortable, Ferrari?"

"Perfectly." I lean back and let my brain run through the ramifications. Vincent's presence suggests either he has been compromised or this whole arrest is some sort of frame-up. Setup by whom is the question?

The SUV emerges from the parking garage and joins the hectic New York traffic. But we head north toward the Bronx rather than towards the federal building downtown.

"Going the picturesque way?” I say casually.

"Traffic." Chen keeps her gaze from me as she talks. "Construction on the regular roads."

One more lie. Having driven these streets for fifteen years, I see no construction that would justify this detour. We're headed for Moretti territory, which implies one of two things: the FBI has been hacked or this isn't really an FBI operation.

Chen's pocket suddenly buzzes with my phone, which they took away during the arrest. She frowns as she looks at the screen.

“Marco once more. Your lieutenant seems concerned about you.”

"He is defensive of family."

“Is that what you call it?" She browses what I gather to be my texts. "Looks more like fear to me. Many notes on "handling the situation" and "cleaning up loose ends"

Approaching a red light, the SUV slows down; I see Vincent's gaze in the rearview mirror meeting mine. His look has a maybe apology or a maybe warning.

That clarifies things for me. This is not an FBI vehicle. This is an extraction.

Chen responds to her phone ring without glancing at the caller ID. "Yes, we have him... Got it... Twenty minutes."

She hangs up and at last stares at me straight. “Your wife sends her regards.”

"Isabella?" The parts fit with horrifying clarity. "She's running this show; she's not cooperating with you."

"Very good." Chen's professional façade drops to show something far more predatory underneath. "Though I have to say, she understood your intelligence. You figured it out faster than we expected."

Morrison spins in his chair and I notice he is clutching a syringe loaded with clear liquid. "This will make the next part much more enjoyable for everyone involved."

I pull away from him, but my choices are few with my hands bound behind my back. As Vincent makes a sharp right turn, the SUV swerves abruptly, which throws Morrison off balance.

“Driver, what the hell are you up to?" Chen shouts.

Vincent responds by pressing a 9mm pistol against Morrison's temple and saying, "Change of plans".

An SUV stops abruptly in an unused construction area. Chen goes for her gun, but Vincent's free hand is already holding another gun pointed at her.

He warns, "Slowly." He adds, "Hands where I can see them."

“Vincent." My voice stays cool even though the adrenaline is pumping through my veins. "What's the status?”

“Marco assigned me to follow you once we heard of federal interest. Good thing too.” He turns to Chen and Morrison. “Boss, these are not FBI agents. These are Moretti soldiers.”

Chen laughs sardonically. "Took you long enough to find it out."

Vincent adds, still holding both guns pointed at our captors, "Isabella has been preparing this for months. She is using counterfeit federal credentials to get near to you and your woman. The actual FBI has yet to even know you exist on their radar.”

“The recordings?”

Made up. Voice synthesis technology is quite advanced right now. Vincent pokes around in his coat with his elbow and throws me a little key. "Isabella's father has contacts in the tech sector. With the right tools, it's not too hard to produce fraudulent evidence."

I key into my handcuffs, my hands trembling somewhat from anger rather than panic. Everything: the recordings, the surveillance pictures, the collaboration pact.

I question as the cuffs tumble off, "How far down does this go?"

"Deeper than we knew," Vincent's face is somber. "Don Salvatore Moretti has been two years in the planning of a hostile Ferrari takeover. Your marriage to Isabella was only the first stage.

Chen reaches for something in her jacket, but I move faster. I clutch her wrist and spin till she shrieks in agony.

“Where are my kids?"

"Safe," she pants, "for now."

“That's not an answer," I say, pressing more pressure and hearing bones grinding together. "Where? "

"The Moretti compound in New Jersey. Isabella has them under protective custody.”

My blood turns to ice. “Protective custody?”

She completed emergency custody papers this morning. "The children are legally in Isabella's care until a family court hearing," Morrison's voice is strained with anguish from Vincent's gun pressed against his head. "Claims you're an unfit father and Jasmine is mentally unstable.”

Vincent says, "Illegal documents," but they'll hold up long enough for Isabella to disappear with them."

“What about Jasmine?”

Chen smiles frostily. She probably already signed the cooperation agreement by now. Once she gives a testimony against you, she will have finished her work.

“What comes next?”

“Ferrari, mishaps occur—especially to witnesses who know too much.”

Apart from the faint hum of traffic on the highway, the building site nearby is unsettlingly quiet. Vincent reads the question in my gaze and I study him.

“Do it," I say to him.

Two fast shots ring out across the deserted lot. Chen and Morrison bend forward; blood gathers beneath them on the leather seats of the SUV.

"We have to move quickly," Vincent says, pulling out his phone. “Marco has been trying to call you for an hour. Things are worsening fast.”

“Tell me everything.”

Isabella is not only targeting you and the children. She has been giving information to the Torrino family in Chicago, the Benedettos in Boston, and the Russos in Miami. Every big family that has ever harbored a resentment toward Ferrari.

The extent of the betrayal strikes me as a punch in the face. "She's trying to start a war."

She intends to completely wipe off the Ferrari family. With you set up for murder and our business open to other families, we will be wiped off in weeks.

Vincent hands my phone back to me and it buzzes. Marco's name flashes on the screen, but when I answer, it's not Marco's voice I hear.

“Hello, husband.”

Isabella's voice is silk over steel; it sounds familiar but also totally foreign now that I know what she truly is.

“Isabella.”

“By now, I suppose you have seen through my small dishonesty. Vincent was always too smart for his own good.”

“Where are my kids?"

She corrects, "Our children. And they're perfectly safe. For now.”

"What do you require?"

“Every single thing." Her chuckle is like broken glass. "The Ferrari territories, the business operations, the political ties. Everything my father spent decades attempting to grab from your family."

“And in trade?”

“I could let Jasmine live long enough to farewell her kids.”

The phone dies in my hand. I look at it for a minute, trying to understand how big of a mess I'm in. Not only a custody fight or a government inquiry but also the whole eradication of all my family has created.

“Vincent is watching me closely. Boss? What direction do you want us going?”

I see the blood on my hands, the bodies in the SUV, the city landscape in the distance where a woman I once trusted with my life is holding my children captive.

“Tell Marco to turn on the emergency measures.”

"Which protocols?”

Every one of them. I begin walking toward Vincent's car, my mind already mapping routes and resources. “And Vincent? Call every favor we have with law enforcement. Real law enforcement.”

“You are aiming at the complex?”

I stop at the passenger door and stare at him across the roof of the car. “I’m going to war.”

My phone buzzes with a text message from an unknown number as we head away from the building site, leaving the corpses of the fake agents behind.

The image shows Jasmine unconscious and tied to a chair in what appears to be a basement. She has blood on her shirt and bruising on her face.

Under the picture is a straightforward statement: “Moretti compound. One hour. Come by yourself or she will die.”

I present Vincent the picture, and he lets loose a terrible Italian outburst.

"It's a trap, boss. They'll kill you both."

Probably. I view Jasmine's bruised face on the screen, the woman I love more than my own life. "But I can't let them hurt her anymore," I say.

“So, what is the strategy?”

For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine my children's faces, Jasmine's smile, and all the everyday life we could have had if my world wasn't based on betrayal and violence.

Vincent grasps the steering wheel harder when I open them again because he detects something in my look.

I tell him, "We're going to give Isabella exactly what she wants. A war."

Another message from Isabella herself buzzes the phone: “Oh, and Nico? I'm pregnant. Don't you believe our child ought to inherit a unified empire?”