Chapter 3 - THE GHOST IN THE SYSTEM
Twenty minutes later, Enzo Calder—Vincenzo’s head of security, a hulking, taciturn man with a broken nose and eyes that missed nothing—stepped out of the private elevator and into the penthouse kitchen. His heavy wool coat was still damp from the Chicago rain, and his face was locked into the stony, impenetrable mask of a soldier who understood he was standing uncomfortably close to an unexploded bomb.
Vincenzo was sitting at the kitchen island. The ultrasound printout lay flat on the granite before him like a death warrant.
“She’s gone, Enzo,” Vincenzo said without looking up. His voice was frighteningly quiet—the kind of quiet that preceded a mass firing or a execution order in the old neighborhoods.
Enzo didn't blink. He had spent the morning reviewing the perimeter logs before coming up. “I know, boss. Security cameras in the underground garage show her leaving through the service exit at 3:06 a.m. She was carrying a single leather duffel bag.”
Vincenzo’s head snapped up. His eyes burned with an intense, dark fury. “Did she take a car? Whose vehicle was waiting?”
“Nobody’s,” Enzo replied carefully, stepping a little closer. “She walked out to Michigan Avenue on foot. Street-level traffic cameras picked her walking south toward the CTA Red Line station. After that, she vanished into the underground transit network.”
Vincenzo stared at him, his jaw muscles clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “She didn't drive? She doesn't take public transit at three in the morning!”
“She’s been living in this city for four years, Mr. Duca,” Enzo said, choosing his words with surgical precision. “She knew every blind spot on our exterior cameras. She knew the patrol schedules of the night guards. And she knew how to bypass the lobby concierge without triggering the electronic register.”
Vincenzo stood up so violently his barstool scraped backward across the marble floor, emitting a harsh, screeching metallic sound. He paced across the kitchen, his broad shoulders tense beneath his black shirt.
“Check the airports,” Vincenzo barked. “O’Hare, Midway, private airstrips in DuPage. Check every manifest for her name, her maiden name, any alias she might have used.”
“Already on it,” Enzo said smoothly. “Nothing under her name. No commercial airline tickets purchased with her credit cards or her personal accounts in the last forty-eight hours.”
“Then she used cash,” Vincenzo growled, slamming his fist down onto the kitchen counter. The impact made the crystal glassware in the upper cabinets rattle in protest. “She used the emergency cash stash. Find out where she got the burner phone—she left her primary device right here on the vanity.”
Enzo nodded slowly. “We’re pulling the transaction logs from every 24-hour pharmacy and convenience store within a three-mile radius of the penthouse. If she bought a burner phone or a prepaid transit card, we’ll have a time-stamped timestamp within the hour.”
Vincenzo walked back to the island and looked down at the ultrasound printout once more. His expression softened for a fraction of a second—a fleeting, unguarded crack in his iron facade—before the cold mask of control slammed back down over his features.
“She’s pregnant, Enzo,” Vincenzo said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“Yes, boss,” Enzo said quietly. “The boys in the network are already talking. Word is spreading through the lower tiers.”
“Shut them up,” Vincenzo snapped, his head snapping toward Enzo with sudden, lethal intensity. “I want absolute silence regarding the pregnancy. If a single word leaks from any of our associates—if anyone breathes a syllable about my wife or my child—you handle it personally. Do you understand me?”
“Crystal clear, Mr. Duca.”
“And Enzo?” Vincenzo added, his dark eyes locking onto his security chief with unyielding gravity. “This is not a manhunt. Nobody scares her. Nobody touches her family in upstate New York. Nobody corners her or makes her feel cornered. If anyone in my organization places a hand on her or tries to drag her back by force, they answer to me. I made this mess. I will fix it. But if you or anyone else makes this worse than I already have... you won't live to see sundown.”
Enzo gave a single, solemn nod. “Understood, boss. We find her location, but we don't approach. We report directly to you.”
“Go,” Vincenzo commanded.
May you like
As Enzo turned and stepped back into the elevator, Vincenzo reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out Celeste’s abandoned smartphone, and stared at the dark, inactive screen.
For the first time in his life, the undisputed king of the Chicago underworld felt entirely, terrifyingly powerless.
