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Chapter 24

The return flight to the Romano estate was silent and tense. Alessandra sat in the plush leather seat of the private jet, staring out into the dark night sky. The attempted ambush in Montana had proven that the Syndicate war was expanding rapidly. Vargas and the East Coast coalition were making a concerted play for her shipping lanes, and they were willing to use any leverage necessary.

"We have a confirmed location on Vargas, Boss," Silas reported, his tailored suit smelling faintly of gunsmoke. "The meatpacking plant is heavily fortified. He has dozens of loyalists securing the perimeter. If we hit him now, it will be a full-scale assault."

"I don't want a full-scale assault, Silas," Alessandra replied smoothly, her American accent crisp and lethal. "A massive shootout draws federal attention. I want Vargas isolated and removed quietly. I want to send a message to the East Coast families that attempting to usurp my throne results in surgical, absolute eradication."

"How do we breach a fortified compound quietly?" Silas asked, his brow furrowed in tactical calculation.

Alessandra’s eyes narrowed into dark, calculating slits. "We don't breach it from the outside. We poison it from within."

She pulled her encrypted cell phone from her tactical gear and dialed a highly secure number. After three rings, a gruff voice answered.

"Carlo," Alessandra said, addressing one of Morreti's former capos, a man she knew harbored deep resentment for Vargas's bloody coup. "I have a proposition for you. Vargas slaughtered your Boss, and now he is selling Chicago out to the East Coast families. How would you like to take your city back?"

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There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "What's the play, Alessandra?" Carlo finally asked, his voice thick with suppressed rage.

"You are going to walk into that meatpacking plant and swear fealty to Vargas," Alessandra instructed, a terrifying, empty smile touching her lips. "And you are going to bring him a gift. A peace offering from the remnants of the Morreti loyalists. Three crates of vintage Italian wine. But the wine isn't for drinking, Carlo. It's for sleeping."

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