Chapter 29: Marco's Move

Marco's POV

The knife sliced through Tony's throat before he could scream.

I wiped the blade clean while his body hit the floor. Blood pooled around my shoes.

"Clean this up," I told my men. "Make it look like the Torrino family did it."

"Boss," Sal whispered. "Are you sure about this?"

"Tony was going to warn Enzo. Now he can't."

I walked away from the body. Tony had been Enzo's friend for thirty years. But friendship doesn't pay bills. Power does.

My phone rang. Private number.

"It's done," I answered.

"Good." The voice belonged to Vincent Torrino. Head of our biggest rival family. "Enzo suspects nothing?"

"He thinks you're planning to hit his shipments next week."

"Perfect. While he's protecting cargo, we'll take his throne."

"And my payment?"

"Half of everything. As promised."

I smiled. After twenty years of taking orders from Enzo Rossi, I was finally going to be the boss.

"There's one problem," Vincent said.

"What?"

"His daughter. She's still alive."

"Selena's not a threat. She's been hiding for three years."

"She surfaced last night. With Morrison."

My blood went cold. Morrison was supposed to be dead. We'd been hunting him for months.

"Where?"

"Warehouse District 9. Someone burned down Building 47."

"Did they find anything?"

"Unknown. But Selena and Morrison escaped."

I kicked a chair across the room. "Find them!"

"My men are looking. But there's something else."

"What now?"

"The FBI grabbed Enzo two hours ago."

"What?"

"Fake FBI. Someone used a stolen van. Made it look official."

My mind raced. "Who would do that?"

"Someone who wants Enzo alive. For questioning."

"Morrison."

"Has to be."

This was bad. If Morrison had Enzo, he could get information. Dangerous information.

"We move tonight," I decided. "Before Morrison can talk."

"Move how?"

"We take over. All of it. The family thinks Enzo's been arrested. I step up as temporary boss."

"And if Enzo comes back?"

"He won't."

I hung up. Turned to my men.

"Gather everyone. Emergency family meeting. One hour."

"What about the other bosses?" Sal asked.

"They'll fall in line. Or they'll fall."

"And if they ask about Enzo?"

"I'll tell them the truth. He's been captured. The family needs leadership."

But as my men left to spread the word, doubt crept in. Enzo had survived forty years in this business. He wasn't easy to kill.

Unless you knew his weakness.

Selena.

I grabbed my phone. Made another call.

"It's Marco. Is she ready?"

"She's perfect," a woman's voice answered. "Looks exactly like her."

"And the training?"

"Complete. She knows everything about Selena's life. Her habits. Her fears. Her relationship with the assassin."

"Good. Send her in."

This was my master stroke. You can't kill Enzo Rossi with bullets. But you can destroy him with his heart.

The fake Selena would walk back into Enzo's life. Make him trust her. Then she'd put a knife in his back.

And I'd be there to comfort the family in their grief. The loyal underboss stepping up in their darkest hour.

My phone rang again. Different number.

"Marco?" Enzo's voice. Alive. Angry.

"Boss! Where are you? We've been looking everywhere!"

"I escaped. But barely."

"The FBI—"

"Weren't FBI. Morrison's people. Using stolen equipment."

"How did you get away?"

"Someone helped me. From the inside."

My heart pounded. "Inside?"

"Someone in Morrison's group. They let me go. But they want something in return."

"What?"

"A meeting. Tonight. Warehouse District 9."

"Boss, that's a trap."

"Maybe. But they have information about Selena. About who really killed Maria."

"We already know who killed Maria. Rook did it."

"No. Someone else pulled the trigger. Rook was just the weapon."

I felt sweat on my forehead. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we've been hunting the wrong person for three years."

"Boss, you're not thinking clearly. The stress—"

"I'm thinking perfectly clear. And I know you've been lying to me."

My blood turned to ice water. "Boss?"

"The night Maria died. You weren't in Chicago like you said."

"Yes, I was. Business meeting with the—"

"I checked. There was no meeting."

"Boss, I can explain—"

"You were here. In the city. The night my wife died."

The phone felt heavy in my hand. "Enzo..."

"And you knew about Morrison's daughter. Before I told you."

"How could I know that?"

"Because you've been working with him. For years."

I almost dropped the phone. How did he figure it out?

"That's crazy. Why would I work with our enemy?"

"Because he promised you my job."

Silence. Long. Terrible.

"Enzo," I said carefully. "You're talking nonsense."

"Am I? Then explain this."

He sent me a photo. Bank records. Money transfers.

From Morrison's accounts. To mine.

Over two years. Millions of dollars.

"Those are fake," I said quickly.

"Are they? Like the fake FBI van? Like the fake evidence against the Torrino family?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've been feeding Morrison information. About our operations. Our security. Our family."

I started to panic. "Boss, listen to me—"

"I am listening. To the recording Morrison just played for me."

"What recording?"

"Your voice. Making a deal with Vincent Torrino. Three days ago."

My legs went weak. Vincent and I had been careful. We met in secure locations. Used encrypted phones.

But somehow Morrison had been listening.

"Meet me tonight," Enzo continued. "Warehouse District 9. Building 46. Come alone."

"Boss—"

"If you're innocent, you have nothing to fear."

"And if I don't come?"

"Then everyone will know you're guilty."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone. This was falling apart fast.

My door burst open. Vincent Torrino walked in with four armed men.

"We have a problem," he said.

"Morrison knows about our deal."

"Worse than that. He's got Selena."

"So?"

"So she's not just Enzo's daughter. She's Claire Morrison's daughter. His granddaughter."

"What difference does that make?"

Vincent sat down. "It means Morrison isn't just after revenge. He's after family."

"I still don't see the problem."

"The problem is what Selena knows. What she can prove."

"Like what?"

"Like who really killed her mother. And why."

I felt cold suddenly. "Morrison killed Claire. We all know that."

"No. Morrison loved Claire. Someone else killed her and framed him for it."

"Who?"

Vincent smiled. But it wasn't a happy smile.

"The same person who's been playing both sides for twenty-six years. The same person who convinced Enzo to trust Morrison's son as a doctor. The same person who made sure Morrison found his granddaughter right when Enzo's empire started cracking."

I couldn't breathe. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we've all been dancing to someone else's music."

"Whose?"

"Someone who wanted Enzo and Morrison to destroy each other. Someone who benefits when both families fall."

Vincent stood up. His men raised their guns.

"Someone like you, Marco."

"That's crazy!"

"Is it? You knew about Claire's pregnancy before anyone else. You knew where Morrison would look for his granddaughter. You even knew about the warehouse where Claire died."

"How could I know that?"

"Because you were there that night. Twenty-six years ago."

"I was nineteen years old!"

"Old enough to pull a trigger. Young enough to follow orders."

The guns were all pointing at me now. My own men had stepped back.

"Vincent, we had a deal."

"We had a deal with Marco the underboss. Not Marco the mastermind."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Vincent pulled out a phone. Started a video.

Security footage. The warehouse. Twenty-six years ago.

A young woman entered. Claire Morrison. Pregnant. Scared.

Someone else came in behind her. A teenager with dark hair and angry eyes.

Me. Twenty-six years younger.

"Recognize him?" Vincent asked.

On the video, young Marco pulled out a gun. Claire raised her hands. Begged for her baby's life.

Young Marco shot her anyway.

"You killed Morrison's daughter," Vincent said. "Then you spent twenty-six years making everyone else pay for your crime."

I backed toward the window. "You don't understand. She was going to destroy everything!"

"So you destroyed her instead."

"I was protecting the family!"

"You were protecting yourself!"

I grabbed my gun. But Vincent's men were faster.

Four red dots appeared on my chest. Laser sights.

"Don't," Vincent warned. "We need you alive."

"For what?"

"For Morrison. He's been hunting you for twenty-six years. Time to give him what he wants."

"I won't go."

"Yes, you will. Because if you don't, we'll kill everyone you care about."

"I don't care about anyone."

Vincent smiled again. "What about your sister?"

My blood stopped flowing. "Anna has nothing to do with this."

"Doesn't she? Check your phone."

A text message appeared. A photo.

Anna. Tied to a chair. Blindfolded. A gun pressed to her head.

"Where is she?"

"Warehouse District 9. Building 46."

"That building exploded!"

"The basement didn't. Very strong construction."

"What do you want?"

"Simple trade. You for your sister."

"And if I refuse?"

"She dies. Slowly."

I looked at the photo again. Anna was crying. My baby sister who still sent me birthday cards. Who didn't know what I really did for a living.

"Fine," I said. "But I want proof she's alive."

Vincent made a call. "Put her on."

My phone rang. Anna's sobbing voice.

"Marco? Marco, help me! I don't know where I am!"

"Anna, it's okay. I'm coming."

"They said... they said you did bad things. That's not true, right? You're a good person, right?"

My throat closed up. Anna still thought I was her big brother who worked in construction. Who sent money for her college. Who never missed her birthday.

She had no idea her brother was a killer.

"Right, Marco?" Anna asked again. "You're good?"

I looked at Vincent. At his men. At the guns still pointed at my heart.

"Yeah, Anna," I lied. "I'm good."

"Then why are these people so angry with you?"

"Just a misunderstanding. I'll fix it."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

But as I said the words, I knew they were false. There was no fixing this. No going back.

I was going to die tonight. In the same place where I'd committed my first murder.

The only question was whether Anna would die with me.

"One hour," Vincent said. "Building 46. Come alone."

"And if this is a setup?"

"It is a setup. But not for you."

"Then for who?"

Vincent's smile turned evil.

"For Morrison. He thinks he's finally going to get justice for his daughter."

"Isn't he?"

"Oh, he'll get justice. Just not the kind he's expecting."

Vincent and his men left. I was alone with Tony's body and my guilty conscience.

I called my driver. "Get the car. We're going to the warehouse district."

"Which building, boss?"

"46. And pack extra ammunition."

"How much extra?"

I looked at the photo of Anna one more time. My innocent sister who still believed in good people.

"All of it."

Because tonight wasn't just about revenge. Or power. Or money.

Tonight was about family.

And I was about to find out if blood was really thicker than bullets.