Chapter 3 - The Price of a Name
Nicky Marcone scrambled backward, knocking his chair over as the three enforcers beside him drew their weapons in a panic.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot him, you idiots!" Nicky shrieked, backing into a stack of stolen microwave boxes. "It's the Boss!"
The three enforcers hesitated, their hands trembling as they pointed their handguns at my chest. They knew who I was. In Chicago, shooting at Rocco Moretti didn't just mean your death; it meant your entire bloodline was wiped off the city register before sunrise.
"Rocco, listen to me!" Nicky stammered, holding his hands up, his jade ring catching the light. "This is just local collection work! My brother Sal said—"
"Where is the child, Nicky?" I asked, stopping five feet from the table.
Nicky blinked, sweat pouring down his forehead despite the freezing air in the unheated plant. "What child? We... we pick up collateral on debts! Sal told us the family needed more cash flow from the East Side—"
"Where is the infant you took from the house on 4th Street yesterday?" I repeated, my voice dropping so low it seemed to vibrate through the concrete floor.
Nicky swallowed hard, glancing toward a reinforced steel refrigeration door at the back of the hall.
I didn't wait for him to answer.
I fired three quick rounds. The three enforcers fell where they stood, shot through the chest before they could even decide whether to pull their triggers. They hit the floor like sacks of wet flour.
Nicky let out a high-pitched scream, dropping to his knees, clutching his head in horror. "In the office! In the back office! He's in the office with the accountant's wife! She's feeding him! We didn't hurt him, I swear to God, Rocco, we didn't hurt him!"
I walked over to Nicky, grabbed him by his silk collar, and dragged him across the floor toward the back office. He wept, his designer shoes scraping uselessly against the concrete.
I kicked the office door open.
Inside, sitting on a worn vinyl sofa, was a frightened young woman holding a six-month-old baby wrapped in a yellow blanket. The baby was crying softly, holding a tiny rubber bottle.
"Out," I told the woman.
She didn't hesitate. She set the baby gently down on the sofa and bolted out the door, running past the bloody bodies in the main hall without looking back.
I dropped Nicky onto the floor beside the sofa.
I picked up the baby boy. He was small, frail, but unharmed. He looked up at me with big, dark eyes—the exact same eyes as Emma.
"Luca," I spoke into my shoulder mic.
"I'm here, Boss," Luca answered instantly from the radio.
"Come inside. Bring Emma. Her brother is alive."
Two minutes later, the heavy doors opened. Emma ran into the office, her small shoes slapping against the floor. When she saw the baby on the sofa, she let out a loud, shuddering sob and threw her arms around her tiny brother, burying her face in his blanket.
"Leo... Leo..." she wept, clutching him tight.
Luca stood in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the dead enforcers in the hall, then settling on Nicky Marcone, who was groveling on the floor at my feet.
"Rocco," Luca said quietly. "Sal Marcone just called my private cell. He knows you're at the plant. He's gathering his full crew at the Marcone Estate in Heights. He says if you don't release Nicky, he's calling the street captains to declare an internal vendetta."
I looked down at Nicky Marcone. Then I looked at Emma, who was rocking her baby brother in her arms, tears washing away the dirt on her face.
I walked over to Nicky, grabbed his right hand, and laid his thumb flat against the edge of the metal desk.
"Rocco! No! Please! Mercy!" Nicky screamed, thrashing wildly.
I didn't answer. I slammed the heavy silver grip of my pistol down on his thumb with full force.
A sickening crush echoed through the room. Nicky shrieked in agony as his jade signet ring shattered into a dozen bloody pieces.
"That ring didn't belong to you," I said coldly. "And neither did my name."
I looked over at Luca. "Take Emma and her brother to St. Jude’s Hospital. Put them in the private suite next to their mother. Leave eight guards."
"And you, Boss?" Luca asked, his eyes darkening.
May you like
I picked up my coat from the back of a chair and pulled it back over my shoulders, adjusting the lapels.
"Sal Marcone invited me to an internal vendetta," I said softly, stepping over Nicky’s writhing body. "It would be rude not to attend."
