Chapter 3 - Ghosts of the Port
The DNA results came back in six hours: 99.9% match. Matteo was alive. But as relief washed over me, the dark reality of our situation set in.
My underboss and long-time confidant, Dominic Vance (no relation to the detective), entered the study around midnight. Dominic had stood beside me at Elena’s funeral. He had wiped my blood when rival families tried to take our docks.
"We found the paper trail on those shipping containers at Port of Chicago, Boss," Dominic said, setting a folder on my desk. "It’s bad. Someone used your personal codes to sign off on illegal hardware shipments. The feds are getting ready to issue a warrant for your arrest by morning."
I looked at Dominic. I noticed, for the first time in six years, the slight twitch in his jaw—the same nervous tick he had the morning Elena took that fateful drive down Highway 41.
"Dominic," I said quietly, leaning back in my leather chair. "Do you remember the night Elena died?"
"Every day, Boss," he said, his voice thick with false emotion. "We all lost a piece of ourselves."
"Chloe told me something interesting today," I continued, playing with a silver fountain pen on my desk. "She told me her brother dreamed of a burning car in the dark trees. And she told me her uncle found him wandering off the highway six years ago."
Dominic's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Children have wild imaginations, Julian."
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"The boy has my DNA, Dominic. And he's sleeping upstairs right now."
The silence in the room became absolute. Dominic’s hand hovered near his coat jacket. Before his fingers could reach his holster, two of my most loyal guards stepped out from behind the heavy velvet curtains, their weapons raised and aimed squarely at his chest.
