Chapter 2 - Sins of the Father
I led the caravan of black SUVs through the blizzard,
back toward the Lake Forest estate.
Beatrice sat in the back with Leo,
her hand never leaving the grip of her knife.
She didn't trust me,
and I didn't blame her.
Trust is a currency I had spent long ago.
As we drove,
I looked at the city lights blurred by the falling snow.
I thought about twelve years ago,
the night of the Great Warehouse Fire.
Lorenzo had come to me,
ash-stained and weeping,
telling me that my brother’s family had been trapped inside.
I had believed him because I was grieving.
I had believed him because it was easier than looking for the bodies myself.
I was a young Don back then,
eager to prove I was ruthless enough to lead.
Lorenzo had used my ambition as a blindfold.
"Why did you save him?"
I asked Beatrice,
not turning around.
"I was a security detail for your brother's wife,"
she said,
her voice flat.
"I saw the men who set the fire."
"They weren't rivals."
"They were wearing Caruso colors."
I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
"Lorenzo's men,"
I muttered.
"He wanted to consolidate power,"
she continued.
"Your brother was too soft,"
"too focused on legitimate business."
"Lorenzo wanted the drugs,"
"the human trafficking,"
"everything your brother refused to touch."
And I had let it happen.
I had been the figurehead for a monster.
When we reached the gates of the estate,
the guards looked confused.
They saw the children huddled in the back of the vehicles.
"Boss?"
one of them asked,
stepping toward my window.
"Open the gates,"
I said,
my voice like iron.
"And call a meeting of the inner circle."
"Every captain,"
"every lieutenant."
"Now."
We filed into the mansion,
the grand marble hall feeling colder than the church.
The children walked in a tight group,
their eyes wide at the gold-leafed ceilings and expensive art.
They were seeing the wealth built on their parents' blood.
I led them to the dining room,
the same room where the leftovers had been taken from.
"Feed them,"
I told the remaining kitchen staff.
"The best of everything."
"No scraps."
"No leftovers."
I turned to Beatrice.
"Keep them here."
"If anyone besides me enters this room,"
"kill them."
She nodded once,
a professional acknowledgement.
I walked toward my study,
every step feeling like a heavy heartbeat.
I could hear the cars arriving outside.
The captains were coming.
Lorenzo would be among them.
He would think this was a routine meeting.
He would think he was still the shadow ruler of Chicago.
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a heavy revolver.
I checked the cylinder.
Six rounds.
Six sins to atone for.
I sat in the darkness,
waiting for the man I had called my friend.
I thought about the boy,
Leo,
eating steak in the next room.
He was the living proof of my failure,
but also my only chance at a legacy that wasn't soaked in filth.
The door to my study opened.
Lorenzo walked in,
shaking snow from his expensive wool coat.
"Antonio,"
he said,
smiling.
"I heard you brought some guests home."
"Unusual guests."
I didn't turn on the light.
"I went for a walk,
Lorenzo."
"In the cold."
He paused,
his smile faltering in the shadows.
"A walk?"
"You should have taken the car."
"I did,"
I said.
"I followed a ghost."
The silence that followed was thick with the scent of impending death.
He knew.
I could hear it in the way his breathing hitched.
"Beatrice was always a problem,"
Lorenzo whispered,
his hand moving toward his own weapon.
"I should have killed her twelve years ago."
"You should have tried,"
May you like
I said,
as the lights flickered to life.
