Chapter 3 - The Blood of the Vela
The SUV tore through the quiet suburbs, leaving the gleaming towers of downtown Chicago behind and entering the densely wooded estate districts of Lake Forest. Claret wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in her damp clothes. The heat from the vehicle’s vents was blowing, but the chill inside her went straight to her bones.
Vincent glanced over at her, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. He reached into the backseat, pulled out a thick, cashmere throw blanket, and tossed it into her lap.
"Cover yourself," he said softly. "You’re in danger because of my family. I won't let you freeze on top of it."
"Why am I in danger?" Claret asked, wrapping the warm cashmere around her shoulders. "I’m just a waitress, Vincent. I clean tables. I take abuse from women like Beatrice. I don't belong in this world."
"You belong to it more than you know," Vincent replied, his voice dark and heavy. "Forty years ago, in the mountains of western Sicily, the Russo family wasn't the top syndicate. We were upstarts. The Vela family—your family—were the ancient guardians of the mountain passes. They lived by a strict code. They didn't sell poison, they didn't traffic people, and they kept the peace."
He took a sharp turn into a hidden driveway hidden behind thick pine trees. A massive iron gate swung open automatically as his vehicle approached.
"Salvatore Russo wanted absolute power," Vincent continued. "He betrayed the Vela clan in a single night. He called it the Night of the Burning Pines. He believed he wiped out every last person carrying the Vela blood. He took their land, took their wealth, and built an empire on their ashes."
"Nona Katarina..." Claret whispered, tears welling in her eyes as the pieces began to fit together. "She was just a young girl then. She fled to America with nothing."
"She survived," Vincent corrected, stopping the car in front of a sprawling, ancient limestone mansion hidden deep within the forest. "And by surviving, she preserved the dialect. That dialect isn't just a language, Claret. It's a key. The Vela family hid their true legacy—documents, ledgers, and the secret records of every crime Salvatore ever committed—in a vault hidden beneath Chicago, protected by a lock that only responds to the specific phonetics and vocal cadence of the Vela bloodline."
Claret looked at Vincent in utter disbelief. "A voice-activated lock? In the old country?"
"No," Vincent said, turning to look her dead in the eye. "Not the old country. My father didn't build his empire alone. He stole the Vela assets and moved them here forty years ago. He built a fortress over their vault. But he could never open it. For forty years, he searched for a Vela survivor. And tonight, you spoke the exact words of the initiation rite in front of thirty capos."
The heavy mahogany doors of the mansion opened, and two armed men in sharp suits stepped out, holding umbrella canopy shields to protect them from the rain.
"Vincent," Claret murmured, her heart pounding. "You said your father is dying."
"He was poisoned three days ago with a rare, slow-acting neurotoxin," Vincent revealed, stepping out of the car and opening her door. "The doctor says his heart will give out in less than two days. Lorenzo, his underboss, believes that with my father dead, the family will fall apart. But if Salvatore dies before opening the Vela vault, the entire syndicate’s hidden wealth—billions of dollars—will be locked away forever."
May you like
Vincent held out his hand to help her down. His palm was warm, strong, and calloused.
"You aren't just a waitress anymore, Claret," Vincent said softly as she took his hand. "You are the only person alive who can open that vault, save this city from a bloody mob war, and decide whether my father lives or dies."
