Chapter 15 - THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT
Z
"You want me to call the FBI?" Massimo stared at me as if the freezing air in the auto shop had finally driven me insane. He had just hauled an unconscious Lorenzo into the back of the van, his hands stained with his best friend's blood.
"I don't want you to call them," I corrected, pulling the torn, blank business card from the pocket of my jeans. I had pieced it back together and taped it the day Agent Harris gave it to me, a failsafe I prayed I'd never need. "I am going to call them."
"Tessa, if you bring the Feds into this, they will arrest all of us. They’ll seize the ports, RICO the entire organization, and put me away for life!"
"Not if we give them a bigger fish," I countered, my mind racing through the tactical anatomy of the situation. "Agent Harris doesn't care about justice; he cares about his career. Taking down the Boston boss is a good bust. But taking down Don Carmine and the entire New York Commission on a federal weapons and RICO charge? That makes him Director of the FBI."
Massimo froze, his sharp mind instantly analyzing the angle. "Carmine's hit squad," he murmured, his eyes narrowing. "There are thirty heavily armed, unlicensed mercenaries currently shooting up a residential estate. But how does that connect to Carmine?"
"It doesn't. Not yet," I said, grabbing Massimo’s shoulders. "Where are Don Carmine’s illegal shipments currently held? The ones he moves through the ports?"
"Warehouse 9, at the South Docks. He brought in a massive shipment of untraceable firearms last night, planning to use them to arm his men after he took my territory."
"Perfect," I breathed. I dialed the number on the taped card.
It rang twice before a groggy voice answered. "Harris."
"Agent Harris, it's Tessa Fitzgerald," I said, pitching my voice into a frantic, terrified octave. I didn't have to fake the tremor; the adrenaline in my veins was real enough.
"Tessa? Where are you? The scanners are going crazy—reports of explosions at the Pascale estate." Harris was instantly awake, the predatory excitement clear in his tone.
"I ran," I sobbed, leaning against the cold metal of the van. "Massimo is dead. Don Carmine’s men breached the house. They killed everyone. I barely made it out of the tunnels."
Massimo watched me, utterly captivated, a proud, dark smirk slowly forming on his lips.
"Are you safe?" Harris demanded. "Where is the hit squad now?"
"They're regrouping to secure their weapons cache," I lied seamlessly. "I heard their commander. They are moving to Warehouse 9 at the South Docks. Agent Harris, they have enough illegal firearms there to arm a militia. If you hurry, you can catch the men who did this, and you’ll have Don Carmine dead to rights on federal weapons trafficking."
"Warehouse 9," Harris repeated, the greed in his voice palpable. "Stay hidden, Tessa. We are mobilizing a SWAT team right now."
I hung up, dropping the burner phone onto the concrete and crushing it beneath my boot.
"You just weaponized the Federal Government," Massimo said softly, stepping closer to me. The violence of the night was forgotten, replaced by a profound, terrifying awe.
"I just bought us a distraction," I corrected, turning to the back of the van where Lorenzo was groaning. "The FBI will raid Warehouse 9. They’ll arrest Carmine’s top men, seize his weapons, and trace the serial numbers back to his shell corporations in New York. The Commission will be entirely tied up in a federal RICO case by morning. They won't have the resources or the manpower to fight you anymore."
"And Lorenzo?"
"With the FBI busy raiding the docks and processing the crime scene at the estate, the local ERs will be clear of federal watchers. We take him to Mass General. I have override codes for the emergency trauma bay. I'll stabilize him, and my supervisor owes me a massive favor."
Massimo looked at me for a long time. The girl who had walked into his room three months ago, terrified of her student loans and intimidated by his scowl, was dead. In her place stood a woman covered in soot and blood, wearing a Kevlar vest over an emerald gown, orchestrating the downfall of the East Coast mafia with a cell phone and a medical degree.
He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He pulled me into his arms, kissing me with a fierce, desperate passion that tasted like victory, survival, and a dark, unbreakable promise.
By dawn, the news networks were ablaze. The FBI had conducted the largest organized crime bust in a decade at the South Docks, arresting dozens of Don Carmine's men. Carmine himself was indicted by noon. The Pascale estate was in ruins, but the Boston underworld was entirely, undeniably under Massimo's control.
Six months later, I walked across the stage at the university auditorium, the heavy velvet of my graduation gown swaying around my ankles. I accepted my doctoral degree to the sound of polite applause.
But as I looked out into the crowd, my eyes bypassed the professors and the proud parents. In the back row, surrounded by a perimeter of large, silent men in tailored suits, sat Massimo. He wore a devastatingly sharp charcoal suit, fully recovered, standing tall and powerful.
He caught my eye and offered a slow, deeply possessive smile.
May you like
I smiled back, clutching the diploma in my hand. Dr. Tessa Fitzgerald. I had earned the title. I had saved lives, and I had learned how to heal the human body.
But as I walked off the stage, heading toward the man who ruled the shadows, I knew that my true education had only just begun. I had been hired to teach Massimo Pascale how to walk again. In return, he had taught me how to rule.
