Chapter 5 - The False Wire
Z
For the next twenty minutes, Marco sat across from me, sipping his wine, waiting for me to clutch my chest and collapse onto the marble floor. I played the part beautifully. I rubbed my temple, closed my eyes for a few seconds longer than normal, and occasionally took deep, calculated breaths. Every time I showed a sign of distress, Marco’s eyes gleamed with a sickening joy.
Finally, I stood up, leaning heavily against the table as if my legs were suddenly weak.
“I think… I think you were right, Marco,” I rasped, putting a hand to my chest. “I feel suddenly very exhausted. I’m going to go to my study. I need to lie down on the sofa.”
Marco was out of his chair in a flash, rushing over to my side with feigned concern. “Tony? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” I waved him off, gripping his shoulder tightly. “No doctors. Just… rest. Let yourself out, Marco. We will talk tomorrow.”
“Of course, brother. Rest well,” Marco said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “I’ll let myself out.”
I stumbled out of the dining room, moving slowly until I was out of his sight line. The moment I turned the corner into the darkened hallway, my posture straightened perfectly. The act was over. I walked swiftly into my secure surveillance room where Enzo was sitting in front of a wall of glowing monitors.
“He’s leaving the dining room,” Enzo reported, tapping a screen showing Marco’s figure walking briskly toward the front doors. “He’s practically skipping. He’s pulling out his phone.”
“Patch it through the speakers,” I ordered.
Static hissed over the room's sound system, followed by the ringing of a dialed number. A gruff voice answered.
“Yeah?”
“It’s done,” Marco’s voice echoed through the speakers, breathless with excitement. “He just drank it. He looked terrible. He’s heading to his study to die on his couch right now. It won't be long.”
“Are you sure?” the gruff voice asked. I recognized it instantly. Silvio, Don Lucchese’s right-hand man.
“I watched him swallow it myself,” Marco insisted. “Listen to me, Silvio. Tell Lucchese to mobilize the men. In exactly one hour, I will call the capos and announce that Antonio suffered a fatal heart attack. In the confusion, I want your crew to hit the Pier 42 warehouse. Tony’s main weapons shipment is arriving tonight at 2:00 AM. Without Tony’s direct orders, the guards will be confused and disorganized. You hit the warehouse, take the weapons, and secure the docks. Tomorrow, I will negotiate a peace treaty with Lucchese, giving him the ports in exchange for his ‘support’ of my new leadership.”
“Understood,” Silvio grunted. “Pier 42 at 2:00 AM. We’ll bring a heavy crew. Don't screw this up, Marco. If your brother is still breathing, we’re all dead.”
“He’s a dead man walking,” Marco sneered. “Just get to the pier.”
The line went dead.
I stood in the darkness of the surveillance room, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. Hearing the betrayal out loud, in his own voice, erased whatever tiny sliver of brotherly affection I had left. He was selling out our family’s strongest stronghold, giving up millions in weapons, all to buy a crown he hadn't earned.
“Pier 42,” Enzo muttered, shaking his head. “The idiot took the bait completely.”
The “weapons shipment” at Pier 42 was a complete fabrication. Earlier that day, I had instructed Linda to leave a fake shipping ledger open on my desk while Marco’s spies were watching the house. I knew Marco would see it. I knew he would use it as his first strategic strike.
“He didn't just take the bait, Enzo. He swallowed the whole hook,” I said, turning away from the monitors. “Call the tactical teams. I want forty of our best men down at Pier 42 by 1:00 AM. Arm them with armor-piercing rounds. Suppressors. Night vision. We aren't just going to defend the warehouse; we are going to trap Lucchese’s men inside and slaughter them.”
“And Marco?” Enzo asked.
“Marco will be waiting at his townhouse for the call from Silvio confirming the warehouse is taken,” I said smoothly. “When that call doesn't come, he’ll panic. He’ll drive down to the pier himself to see what went wrong. And when he gets there… I will be waiting for him.”
I walked down the hall to the medical wing. Keo was sleeping peacefully, hooked up to monitors that were showing stable vitals. The Swiss doctor was reviewing charts on a tablet. Linda was sitting in a chair, staring blankly at the wall, the trauma of the evening’s performance weighing heavily on her.
I stepped into the room. Linda jumped up immediately.
“Mr. Gallo… I did exactly what you said. I gave him the tray. I looked scared. Did it work?” she asked frantically.
“You did perfectly, Linda,” I said, my voice softening just a fraction. “You saved your son’s life today. And you saved mine.”
“Is it over?” she whispered.
May you like
“Not yet,” I replied, checking my gold pocket watch. It was midnight. “But by sunrise, the man who threatened your boy will never breathe Chicago air again. Stay here. Keep the doors locked.”
I turned and walked out to the waiting armored SUV. The rain had finally stopped, leaving a heavy, suffocating fog rolling off Lake Michigan. It was the perfect weather for a massacre.
