Chapter 6 - The Gathering Storm
By early summer, the news of Luca Costello’s resurrection had sent shockwaves through the midwestern criminal underworld.
The syndicates in Detroit and St. Louis had spent twelve years treating the Chicago territory like an open carcass, carving off pieces of the freight and drug routes while the crippled lion sat in his wheelchair. Now, the lion was back on his feet, literally. The rumors had filtered through the criminal grapevine—first as jokes, then as nervous whispers, and finally as verified intelligence from informants who had seen him walking the perimeter of the Reyes estate.
Inside the sprawling estate study, Luca sat behind the heavy walnut desk, reviewing a series of encrypted communication logs intercepted by Salvatore’s tech team.
"They're testing the eastern perimeter," Salvatore said, leaning against the bookshelf with a lit cigar that he wasn't actually smoking, just chewing on the end. "The Detroit crew sent three cars down I-94 last night. They didn't cross the county line, but they were looking for weak spots in the distribution hubs."
"They think because I was in a chair for a decade, I forgot how to run a war," Luca said. He stood up from the desk, moving with a slight, deliberate limp that was rapidly disappearing as his leg muscles regained their mass and memory. He walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of bourbon, handing one to Salvatore.
"You haven't forgotten," Salvatore said, taking the glass. "But the landscape changed while you were sitting down, Luca. There are younger players now. Guys who don't remember your father, and don't respect the old rules."
"Then we remind them of the old rules," Luca said evenly. "Not with a massacre. With a demonstration."
Before Salvatore could reply, the heavy study door burst open.
David Vance stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, holding a portable tablet. His face was pale.
"Mr. Costello," David said, his voice trembling. "We have an emergency at the primary residential gate on Lake Forest Road."
Luca turned sharply. "What kind of emergency?"
"It's not an infiltration," David said, handing over the tablet. "It's a visitor. A woman. She bypassed the outer security sensors by walking through the wooded ravine behind the property. She's at the front porch right now."
Luca looked down at the tablet screen, which was streaming live footage from the porch security camera.
A woman stood outside the heavy oak doors. She wore an expensive, dust-stained designer coat, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe knot. She was staring directly into the camera lens with a look of frantic, desperate entitlement that Luca recognized instantly.
It was Vanessa Costello. His estranged cousin by marriage, who had disappeared to Europe eight years ago after her husband—one of Luca’s primary financial officers—had embezzled three million dollars and died under mysterious circumstances in a Monaco hotel room.
"Vanessa," Luca murmured, a cold chill running down his spine. "I thought she was in Geneva."
"She was," David said. "According to our border flags, she landed in O'Hare two hours ago. And she brought something with her."
May you like
Luca zoomed in on the camera feed. In Vanessa’s right hand, she was holding a battered leather briefcase. In her left hand, she held a photograph—a photograph of a little girl with brown hair playing on a baseball diamond.
Maya.
