Chapter 3 - The Traitor at His Table
By noon, the Falcone mansion felt less like a home than a prison.
Every exterior gate was locked.
Phones were collected.
Cars were searched.
Twenty-three men stood inside the ballroom while Matteo’s security team reviewed their movements from the previous forty-eight hours.
Nobody complained.
Not because they agreed.
Because Matteo Falcone had stopped looking civilized.
He stood near the fireplace in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
No jacket.
No tie.
No sleep.
Clara’s photograph lay on the table beside him.
The one Victor had sent.
Matteo had stared at it so long that every detail had burned into him.
The torn silk.
The bruise.
The fear she was trying not to show.
Thaddeus entered.
“We traced the call.”
Matteo looked up.
“Where?”
“Burner bounced through three towers.”
“Where?”
“Near the South Branch.”
Matteo grabbed his jacket.
Thaddeus blocked him.
“That covers several square miles of warehouses and industrial property.”
“Then search several square miles.”
“We are.”
“Not fast enough.”
Thaddeus lowered his voice.
“You need to think.”
Matteo stared at him.
“Tell me that again.”
Thaddeus did not move.
That was why Matteo had trusted him for twelve years.
Everyone else feared Matteo’s anger.
Thaddeus respected it without surrendering to it.
“If whoever took Clara wants you running through warehouses with a gun, maybe don’t give them exactly what they want.”
Matteo slowly released his jacket.
“Peter.”
“What about him?”
“The raid.”
Matteo told him what Peter had said.
Thaddeus frowned.
“If Peter didn’t call Clara…”
“Someone impersonated him.”
“Or used someone she trusted.”
“Exactly.”
Matteo walked to the desk.
“Who knew about the weapons?”
Thaddeus’s hesitation lasted half a second.
Matteo noticed.
“Who?”
“Six people.”
“Names.”
“Me. You. Frank. Richie Bell. Owen Cross.”
“That’s five.”
Thaddeus looked at him.
“And Anthony.”
Matteo went still.
Anthony Falcone.
His younger cousin.
Almost a brother.
They had grown up three houses apart in Bridgeport. Fought schoolyard bullies together. Buried Matteo’s mother together. Anthony had taken two bullets for him during the Cicero war.
“No.”
Thaddeus said nothing.
“Anthony didn’t know the containers were registered to Peter.”
“He signed the routing paperwork.”
Matteo felt sick.
“Bring him.”
Anthony arrived twenty minutes later.
Thirty-five.
Broad shoulders.
Expensive black suit.
The same crooked smile he had worn since childhood.
“What’s this about?”
Matteo stared at him.
“Sit.”
Anthony looked around.
“Why does everyone look like somebody died?”
“Sit.”
The smile disappeared.
Anthony sat.
Matteo placed a warehouse manifest on the table.
“You routed containers through Peter’s company.”
“So?”
“Who knew?”
Anthony shrugged.
“You. Me. Thad. Logistics.”
“Names.”
“Richie. Maybe Owen.”
“Did you tell anyone outside the organization?”
“No.”
Matteo watched him closely.
“When did you leave the gala last night?”
“About one.”
“Where did you go?”
Anthony leaned back.
“Seriously?”
“Answer.”
“I went to Elena’s.”
“Your wife?”
Anthony smiled.
“No.”
Nobody laughed.
“Address.”
Anthony’s smile faded.
“Matteo.”
“Address.”
“Why?”
“Because someone took Clara.”
Anthony stared.
“What?”
Something in his face looked genuine.
Maybe.
Matteo no longer trusted his own instincts.
“She’s missing.”
Anthony stood.
“Since when?”
“Sit down.”
“Jesus Christ, Matteo.”
“Sit.”
Anthony sat slowly.
“Where were you between two and four this morning?”
“With Elena.”
“Frank?”
Frank stepped forward.
Anthony looked between them.
“You think I had something to do with this?”
“I think somebody at my table did.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe.”
Matteo leaned forward.
“But if I’m insane, Anthony, imagine what I’ll do when I find him.”
For the first time, his cousin looked afraid.
They verified Anthony’s alibi.
At least partially.
A woman named Elena confirmed he arrived at 1:38.
Building cameras showed him entering.
No footage showed him leaving before six.
It did not clear him completely.
But it moved him lower on the list.
Richie Bell came next.
Then Owen Cross.
Then Frank.
Matteo questioned his own driver for nearly an hour.
Frank never raised his voice.
At the end, the older man looked Matteo directly in the eyes.
“I failed her.”
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“So did I.”
“I should’ve turned that car around.”
“I told you not to.”
“You also told me twelve years ago that if your pride ever put Mrs. Falcone in danger, I was supposed to ignore you.”
Matteo froze.
He remembered.
A hospital room after Clara had nearly been caught in crossfire during their engagement.
Matteo had told Frank:
If I ever stop thinking clearly where she’s concerned, you protect her from me too.
Frank continued.
“I forgot.”
“No.”
Matteo looked away.
“I made sure everybody forgot.”
The confession hung between them.
Thaddeus interrupted.
“We found something.”
A security specialist brought in a laptop.
“Mr. Falcone, we checked outgoing calls from everyone who had access to the warehouse records.”
A map appeared.
“One device connected to a burner phone purchased four days ago.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“Whose?”
The specialist hesitated.
“Thaddeus Russell.”
Silence.
Every man in the room looked at Thaddeus.
Matteo turned slowly.
Thaddeus did not move.
“That’s impossible.”
The specialist rotated the screen.
“The burner was activated by a device registered to your private security account.”
Thaddeus stared at the data.
“Someone cloned it.”
“Can they?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Anyone with physical access.”
Matteo’s eyes stayed on Thaddeus.
“You were beside me last night.”
“I know.”
“You handed me the phone that started the argument.”
Thaddeus’s face changed.
The disposable phone.
At the gala.
The one containing information about the raid.
Matteo remembered Clara walking toward him moments later.
Everything had been timed.
“Where did you get that phone?”
Thaddeus answered slowly.
“Anthony gave it to me.”
Every head turned.
Anthony stood near the bar.
His face drained of color.
“That’s bullshit.”
Thaddeus stepped toward him.
“You handed it to me outside the ballroom.”
“Because Richie gave it to me.”
Richie Bell immediately cursed.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
Matteo slammed both hands onto the table.
“Enough!”
Silence.
He pointed at Anthony.
“Who gave you the phone?”
“I just told you.”
“Think very carefully.”
Anthony’s anger flickered.
Then uncertainty.
“I found it in my jacket.”
Nobody moved.
“What?”
Anthony rubbed his face.
“I assumed Richie put it there because he said you were expecting information.”
Matteo looked at Richie.
Richie shook his head.
“Never happened.”
Someone had moved among them.
Someone who understood exactly how Falcone communication worked.
Someone who knew Matteo would accept a burner from Thaddeus without questioning it.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
Matteo answered.
“Victor.”
A soft laugh.
“So you remember me.”
Matteo’s face became stone.
“I remember burying you.”
“You buried someone.”
Matteo walked away from the others.
“If you touch her again—”
“Again?”
Victor laughed.
“Matteo, the greatest injury Clara suffered last night came from you.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
Victor continued.
“Your wife is fascinating.”
“Put her on.”
“Perhaps later.”
“Victor.”
“Do you remember my son?”
Matteo went silent.
“Daniel Dane,” Victor said. “Twenty-four years old. Ambitious. Foolish. Loyal to your family.”
“I remember.”
“Do you remember ordering him killed?”
Matteo looked at Thaddeus.
“I didn’t order Daniel’s death.”
Victor laughed.
“Still lying.”
“I sent him out of Chicago.”
“You sent him to Milwaukee where two Falcone soldiers put three bullets in his chest.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t send those men.”
“Then who did?”
“That’s what I tried to find out.”
Silence.
Matteo continued.
“Your son discovered money missing from my father’s accounts. He brought it to me. I told him to leave the city because I thought my father would kill him.”
For the first time, Victor said nothing.
Matteo’s voice dropped.
“I tried to save Daniel.”
“Liar.”
“I have the original ledger.”
Victor’s breathing changed.
“You’re lying.”
“Come get it.”
A long silence.
Then Victor said, “I already have what I need.”
The call ended.
Matteo stared at the phone.
Thaddeus approached.
“What ledger?”
Matteo looked at him.
“One my father kept hidden.”
“You never told me.”
“I never told anyone.”
“Where is it?”
Matteo glanced toward the ceiling.
“In this house.”
Two minutes later they stood in Matteo’s father’s old library.
The room had remained mostly untouched since his death.
Matteo moved to a built-in bookcase and pulled out a volume of Dante’s Inferno.
Behind it sat an old steel compartment.
He entered a code.
Nothing.
Again.
Red light.
Matteo stared.
“The code’s changed.”
Thaddeus reached toward the lock.
“Someone’s been in here.”
Security logs were checked.
The library had no cameras inside, only outside the hallway.
Footage from six nights earlier showed someone entering at 3:12 a.m.
Black hoodie.
Face hidden.
He emerged fourteen minutes later.
The figure’s height and movement were familiar.
Matteo replayed the clip.
Again.
Again.
Then Frank whispered:
“Boss.”
Matteo already knew.
The person had a slight limp in the left leg.
A childhood injury from a motorcycle crash.
Matteo slowly looked toward Anthony.
His cousin backed away.
“No.”
Matteo’s voice was quiet.
“You went into my father’s library.”
Anthony shook his head.
“No, Matteo.”
“You changed the lock.”
“I didn’t.”
“You knew about the warehouse.”
“Listen to me.”
“You knew about the burner.”
Anthony stepped closer.
“That man isn’t me.”
“Then who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Matteo pulled his gun.
Every man in the room stiffened.
Anthony stared at the barrel.
“You really think I would take Clara?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Anthony’s face twisted with hurt.
“We were brothers.”
“Then help me.”
“I am trying.”
“Where is the ledger?”
“I don’t know!”
Matteo cocked the weapon.
Thaddeus moved between them.
“Matteo.”
“Move.”
“Not until we know.”
“Move.”
“No.”
For one terrible second, it looked as if Matteo might shoot the man who had stood beside him for twelve years.
Then a guard rushed into the room.
“Boss!”
Matteo turned.
“What?”
“We found Mrs. Falcone’s other shoe.”
The world stopped.
“Where?”
“Calumet River.”
Matteo’s gun lowered.
May you like
The guard swallowed.
“And there was blood on it.”
