Chapter 4 - The Assassination at the Drake
“Gabriel took the drive?”
Lorenzo’s voice was dangerously calm.
We had left Victor locked inside his own private records room while a fire alarm emptied Bianchi headquarters. By the time police reached the upper floors, Lorenzo and I had crossed the service bridge and disappeared into the parking structure.
Gabriel’s car was gone.
So was the encrypted evidence card.
“He knew where I hid it,” I said.
“You showed him.”
“I showed both of you.”
Lorenzo drove with one hand and dialed his brother with the other.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
“Maybe he took it to protect your mother,” I said.
“He could have told us.”
“He may not have had time.”
“He had enough time to disappear.”
We reached a private garage beneath an apartment building in River North. Lorenzo parked and sat motionless behind the wheel.
The betrayal seemed to have aged him.
First Victor.
Now possibly Gabriel.
“You trusted him,” I said.
“I raised him.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“My mother died when Gabriel was eight. My father was alive, but not present in any way that mattered.”
“So you became his father.”
Lorenzo looked through the windshield.
“I became what I thought a father should be.”
“That doesn’t mean he betrayed you.”
“It means he knew exactly how much it would cost.”
His phone rang.
Gabriel.
Lorenzo answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“I have Clara’s mother.”
I leaned toward the phone.
“Is she safe?”
“She is furious, which I consider a good sign.”
I closed my eyes.
My mother’s anger had never sounded beautiful before.
“Where is the drive?” Lorenzo asked.
“With me.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor’s men were tracking Clara. One of them searched her shoe after she entered the building.”
I looked down.
My right sole had been sliced near the heel.
I had not noticed during the struggle.
“You switched it?” I asked.
“When you and Lorenzo were arguing in the bakery. I replaced it with an empty card.”
Relief mixed with annoyance.
“You could have warned me.”
Gabriel laughed weakly.
“Apparently, locking people out of plans is a family habit.”
“Where are you?” Lorenzo repeated.
“St. Catherine’s Medical Center.”
My relief disappeared.
“Why are you at a hospital?”
“Your mother was given a sedative,” Gabriel told me. “She became disoriented during the drive. The doctor says she’ll recover, but she needs observation.”
“I’m coming.”
“No,” Gabriel said. “Victor will watch every emergency room.”
“He already knows you helped her.”
“Which is why I need you to use the key before he disables it.”
I held the silver token we had taken from Victor’s office.
“We have it.”
“Then stop arguing and open the files.”
The call ended.
Lorenzo led me upstairs to an empty apartment owned through one of Salvatore’s relatives.
There was no art, no food, and no personal furniture. It looked like a life designed to vanish.
I connected the security token to a laptop.
The encrypted folders opened.
Thousands of records filled the screen.
Payments.
Names.
Locations.
Victor had not simply hired an assassination crew. He had built an organization inside Lorenzo’s organization.
For six years, he had quietly purchased loyalty.
Police officers received consulting payments.
Union supervisors received loans that were never repaid.
Port inspectors were paid through a charitable foundation.
Three Bianchi board members held hidden shares in Victor’s companies.
Every traitor had a price.
And Victor had recorded all of them.
“He kept proof,” Lorenzo said.
“Protection. If anyone turned on him, he could destroy them.”
I opened a folder labeled DRAKE.
The assassination plan had changed.
After losing the first payment, Victor had hired a local team through a Chicago security company called Sentinel Meridian.
“Do you know them?” I asked.
Lorenzo nodded.
“They provide security at hospitals, courthouses, and political events.”
“And the charity gala.”
The guest list included the mayor, two senators, federal judges, business leaders, and hundreds of donors.
Victor was not merely planning to shoot Lorenzo.
He intended to create a public massacre and blame it on a rival organization.
“He’ll gain control through fear,” I said.
“He will present himself as the only man strong enough to restore order.”
“He doesn’t care who else dies.”
“He never did.”
My phone rang from an encrypted application Gabriel had installed.
A video call.
My mother’s face appeared.
Her auburn-gray hair was flattened on one side, and a hospital blanket covered her shoulders.
“Clara Ellis,” she said. “Why is your face on television?”
I started crying before I could answer.
“Mom.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” she said, though her own eyes filled. “I am not dead.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“They interrupted bingo, put a bag over my head, and took away my purse.”
Her outrage focused on the purse.
“Did the doctors check you?”
“Yes. Your handsome friend won’t let me leave.”
Gabriel appeared behind her.
“She attempted to hit a nurse with a blood-pressure cuff.”
“She tried to take my clothes.”
“It was a hospital gown.”
My mother looked into the camera.
“Is Lorenzo with you?”
He stepped closer.
“Yes, Mrs. Ellis.”
She studied him.
“So you’re the one my daughter risked prison for.”
“Apparently.”
“Are you worth it?”
“Probably not.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Mom,” I said.
“What? You always liked difficult men.”
“I dated one difficult man in college.”
“He stole your car.”
“He borrowed it.”
“He drove to Milwaukee and married someone else.”
Lorenzo’s eyebrows rose.
“This is not the time,” I said.
“It is exactly the time. Kidnapping has clarified my priorities.”
She pointed at Lorenzo through the screen.
“You keep my daughter alive.”
“I will.”
“And don’t let her skip meals when she’s scared.”
“I don’t skip meals.”
“You ate crackers for dinner when your father was sick.”
Lorenzo’s gaze moved to me.
“I’ll make sure she eats.”
The certainty in his voice quieted everyone.
My mother nodded.
“Good.”
Gabriel took the phone.
“We need to move her before Victor traces the connection.”
“Take her to Salvatore,” Lorenzo said. “Use the Western Avenue entrance.”
“I’ll call when we arrive.”
The screen went dark.
I sat on the edge of the sofa and covered my face.
Lorenzo crouched in front of me.
“She’s safe.”
“For now.”
“Yes. For now.”
I lowered my hands.
“You shouldn’t make promises to my mother.”
“I meant it.”
“You can’t guarantee I’ll stay alive.”
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because I will do everything in my power to make it true.”
His hand rested beside mine on the cushion.
Not touching.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth.
“Lorenzo,” I whispered.
A pounding came from the apartment door.
He stood instantly and drew his weapon.
“It’s me,” Matteo called.
Lorenzo opened the door.
Matteo entered with his injured shoulder strapped beneath his coat. He looked pale but alert.
“You should be in bed,” I said.
“I was. It was boring.”
He placed a folder on the table.
“I found the internal access logs. Four security officers helped Victor’s men enter the penthouse.”
“Names?” Lorenzo asked.
Matteo gave them.
One had worked for the family for twelve years.
Another had attended Lorenzo’s mother’s funeral.
The third was married to the daughter of his former driver.
The fourth was Matteo’s own nephew.
Matteo sat heavily.
“I brought him into the company.”
Lorenzo placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder.
“Victor brought him into the conspiracy.”
“I should have known.”
“So should I.”
The two men shared the silence of people who had survived the same kind of wound.
I returned to the computer.
“Victor’s gala team has six members. Two shooters, one communications specialist, a driver, and two people inside the hotel.”
“Can we identify the insiders?” Matteo asked.
“Not by name. They’re listed as M1 and M2.”
“Manager and medic?” Lorenzo suggested.
“Or male one and male two.”
“Helpful.”
“I’m an accountant, not a mind reader.”
Matteo moved closer to the screen.
“Can we cancel the gala?”
“Victor controls Bianchi Logistics now,” Lorenzo said. “He will insist the event continue to demonstrate stability.”
“And if Lorenzo doesn’t appear?” I asked.
“He’ll claim I fled.”
“That could be better than being assassinated.”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“If I run, every person loyal to me becomes a target.”
“You’re not responsible for everyone.”
“Yes, I am.”
His answer came without hesitation.
I understood then why people followed him.
It was not only fear.
Lorenzo carried responsibility like other men carried weapons—constantly, visibly, and at personal cost.
“We need law enforcement,” I said.
Matteo gave a bitter laugh.
“Which officer? Victor owns half the district.”
“Not local police. Federal.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“You said they would arrest us.”
“They will. Unless we give them something bigger than us.”
I searched the payment records and found the name of a federal prosecutor, Elaine Mercer, listed in Victor’s notes.
Beside her name was one word.
UNBUYABLE.
“That sounds promising,” I said.
Lorenzo recognized the name.
“She prosecuted a port corruption case two years ago.”
“Did your organization interfere?”
“No.”
“Did Victor?”
Lorenzo’s silence was enough.
We contacted Mercer through a secure tip line and offered partial proof.
Her response arrived twenty minutes later.
MEET IN PERSON. ONE REPRESENTATIVE. NO WEAPONS.
The location was an abandoned federal courthouse annex near the river.
“I’ll go,” I said.
“No,” Lorenzo and Matteo answered together.
“I’m the accountant. I can explain the records.”
“You are also wanted for theft,” Matteo said.
“That gives her a reason to meet me.”
Lorenzo stepped in front of me.
“She may detain you.”
“She probably will.”
“Then you’re not going.”
“If we don’t involve her, hundreds of people could die tomorrow.”
“We’ll stop Victor ourselves.”
“With what? Three injured men, a bakery owner, and my mother?”
Lorenzo’s jaw flexed.
“You have a talent for reducing plans to their least inspiring form.”
“It keeps expectations realistic.”
I touched his wrist.
His anger vanished beneath the contact.
“Let me do this.”
He looked down at my hand.
Then back at me.
“I will be across the street.”
“She said one representative.”
“She will get one.”
“You’ll be nearby.”
“I’ll be very nearby.”
At dusk, I entered the abandoned annex carrying a folder and no weapon.
The building smelled of dust and wet stone.
Elaine Mercer waited inside the former courtroom with two federal agents.
She was in her fifties, silver-haired, and severe.
“Ms. Ellis,” she said. “You are either very brave or very confused.”
“Both are possible.”
“Where is Lorenzo Bianchi?”
“I’m here to discuss Victor Romano.”
“You are suspected of stealing three point two million dollars.”
“I moved the funds to block payment for a murder contract.”
“You forged financial authorizations.”
“Yes.”
“You hacked interstate banking systems.”
“Yes.”
“You understand that admitting those crimes is unwise.”
“I understand that three hundred people are attending a hotel gala where a tactical team plans to open fire tomorrow.”
Mercer’s expression did not change.
“Show me.”
I handed her the partial records.
She studied the transfers and messages.
One of the agents stepped forward.
“These could be fabricated.”
“Then verify the Prague contractor, the Sentinel Meridian invoice, and the hotel’s east-corridor camera outage scheduled for seven forty-two.”
Mercer closed the folder.
“I need the full ledger.”
“I need immunity.”
“For you?”
“For my mother, Gabriel Bianchi, Matteo Russo, and any employee who cooperates.”
“And Lorenzo?”
I hesitated.
Mercer noticed.
“He is not innocent, Ms. Ellis.”
“I know.”
“Then why protect him?”
“I’m not asking you to erase his past. I’m asking you not to let Victor murder him before he can answer for it.”
Mercer studied me for a long moment.
“You care about him.”
“That is not relevant.”
“It explains your risk tolerance.”
A shot shattered the courtroom window.
One agent dropped behind a bench.
Mercer pulled me to the floor as more shots struck the wall.
Victor had found us.
The federal agents returned fire.
Through the broken window, I saw a dark figure on the opposite rooftop.
Then another figure tackled the shooter from the side.
Lorenzo.
He had ignored every instruction and crossed the roof to reach the attacker.
The two men crashed against the ledge.
I stood.
Mercer grabbed my arm.
“Stay down!”
Lorenzo struck the gunman and ripped the rifle away.
The shooter slipped over the edge but caught the railing with one hand.
Lorenzo stood above him.
For a moment, he could have let go.
Instead, he pulled the man back onto the roof.
Federal agents rushed outside.
Mercer watched through the shattered glass.
“He saved the man who tried to kill you,” she said.
“He needs him alive.”
“That is not the only reason.”
Neither of us spoke.
Minutes later, agents brought Lorenzo and the shooter into the courtroom.
The gunman had a Sentinel Meridian identification card.
Mercer looked at the evidence, then at Lorenzo.
“I can secure the gala,” she said. “But if Victor has compromised local law enforcement and hotel staff, a visible federal operation will make him change the plan.”
“Then keep it invisible,” Lorenzo said.
Mercer turned to me.
“You will bring the complete ledger tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“And after the threat is contained, you will surrender.”
Lorenzo stepped forward.
“She receives immunity.”
“I make no promises.”
“Then you receive no ledger.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
“You are negotiating with a federal prosecutor.”
“I have negotiated with worse.”
“I believe that.”
She looked at us both.
“Bring me Victor’s original ledger and proof linking him directly to the attack. I will consider limited immunity for Ms. Ellis.”
“And Lorenzo?” I asked.
“He receives the same thing every citizen receives. A chance to cooperate.”
It was not safety.
But it was a path.
When we left the annex, rain had stopped.
Lorenzo walked beside me along the river.
“You should not have climbed that roof,” I said.
“You should not have entered the courthouse alone.”
“We agreed you would stay across the street.”
“I was across the street.”
“On a rooftop.”
“It had a better view.”
I stopped walking.
“You could have fallen.”
“So could the shooter.”
“You saved him.”
“I needed answers.”
“That wasn’t the only reason.”
His face became unreadable.
“Mercer said the same thing.”
“She’s observant.”
“So are you.”
The city lights reflected in his eyes.
He stepped closer.
“What do you see, Clara?”
“A man who has spent so long being feared that he no longer knows what to do when someone cares whether he comes home.”
His breath caught.
“And what do you want me to do?”
“Come home.”
“Where?”
The question held more loneliness than I expected.
I touched the scar along his jaw.
“Start by surviving tomorrow.”
He covered my hand with his.
For one fragile moment, the conspiracy, the missing money, and the approaching gala disappeared.
Then Matteo called.
His voice was urgent.
“Victor moved the schedule.”
Lorenzo’s hand tightened around mine.
“What time?”
May you like
“The gala begins in one hour.”
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