Chapter 3 - The King’s Despair
By noon, the Bellandi estate was in a state of high alert.
Over fifty men were combed through the city. Informants in every precinct, street bosses in Little Italy, and surveillance operators monitoring the CTA transit hubs were working under strict orders: find Claire Bellandi, but do not touch her, do not startle her, and report directly to Adrian.
Adrian sat at his massive oak desk in his study. The room smelled of stale tobacco and whiskey. An crystal decanter lay shattered near the fireplace—the result of a moment of explosive rage three hours earlier when his lead intelligence officer reported that Claire’s phone signal had died at the Division Street bridge.
Marcus walked in, holding a tablet.
"Boss," Marcus said softly. "We found something."
Adrian jumped up from his chair, his eyes desperate. "Where is she?"
"We haven't found her physical location yet, but... we ran a deep trace on Elena Russo’s movements before she arrived at our gates three days ago."
Adrian’s eyebrows pulled together into a tight scowl. "What about her?"
Marcus set the tablet on the desk. "She didn't fly in from Milan as she told you. She came in from Detroit on a private charter registered to the Moretti Syndicate."
Adrian froze. The room felt as if the temperature had suddenly plunged below zero.
The Morettis were the Bellandi organization’s bloodiest rivals. For three years, a tense, fragile peace had existed between Adrian and Don Vincent Moretti. But Vincent Moretti was old, sick, and desperate to expand his territory before he died.
"Moretti?" Adrian whispered, his jaw tightening until it clicked.
"Yes, Boss," Marcus continued, his voice heavy. "Elena didn't flee a territory dispute in Italy. She owes twelve million dollars to Moretti’s illegal gambling dens in Monaco. Moretti cleared her debt under one condition: she had to get inside your house."
Adrian felt a cold, violent wave of realization crash over his chest.
Elena hadn't come for him. She had come to distract him. She had used their history as a weapon, creating an emotional wedge between him and Claire so Moretti’s men could monitor the estate’s security protocols from the inside.
And the night she kissed him—the night Claire saw them—Elena had purposely left the study door half-unlocked. She had known Claire was walking down the hallway toward the kitchen for water.
It was a setup. A psychological strike designed to break the mind of the most powerful man in Chicago by taking away the only anchor that kept him grounded.
Adrian let out a roar of absolute fury, smashing his fists onto the heavy oak desk! The wood cracked beneath his strength!
"FIND HER!" Adrian screamed, his face contorted in pure, terrifying rage. "Find my wife! Now! If Moretti lays a single finger on her, I will burn down every building that bears his name!"
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"Boss!" Marcus called out as Adrian grabbed his heavy black coat and racked the slide of his custom semi-automatic pistol. "Where are you going?"
"To see Vincent Moretti," Adrian said, his grey eyes burning with the fire of a demon unleashed. "And if he doesn't tell me where my wife is, he won't survive the afternoon."
