Chapter 8 - THE MAN WHO WANTED THE EMPIRE
Sal Moreno had spent twenty-three years standing one step behind a Rossi.
First Gabriel's father.
Then Gabriel himself.
He negotiated contracts.
Settled disputes.
Managed men who rarely appeared in official records.
He took risks the family never acknowledged publicly.
And every time somebody praised the Rossi empire, Sal heard another name instead of his own.
He had convinced himself that was injustice.
Now, at fifty-three, he intended to correct it.
The original plan had been straightforward.
Meridian Strategic Holdings would acquire controlling interests in several freight businesses.
Sal's associates would gain access to warehouse leases, transportation contracts, and financial accounts.
Gabriel would retain a minority stake and continue serving as the public face of the business.
Everyone would profit.
Except Gabriel had rejected the agreement.
Then Isabelle Hart discovered old records that connected Sal to suspicious shipping transactions.
Her investigation threatened everything.
Sal had needed a distraction.
An event that would consume Gabriel's attention, frighten investors, and make emergency restructuring appear necessary.
The wedding offered the perfect opportunity.
Take Isabelle.
Frame the Ferraros.
Trigger instability.
Then present Meridian as the only solution.
The elegance of the plan pleased him.
What he hadn't expected was Gabriel refusing to start a war.
Sal stood in his downtown office staring at a television report.
A reporter discussed the postponed Rossi wedding.
Isabelle's photograph appeared on the screen.
Sal switched it off.
His associate, Adrian Voss, sat across from him.
“We have a problem,” Voss said.
Sal turned.
“Only one?”
“She still won't sign.”
“Then convince her.”
“I've tried.”
Sal approached the window.
“She knows the art records are important.”
“Very.”
“Does she know why?”
Voss hesitated.
“She understands more than we expected.”
Sal looked over his shoulder.
“Explain.”
“She found Martin Hart's initials.”
For a moment, Sal stopped breathing.
Then he asked, “Where?”
“On the backing.”
Sal closed his eyes.
Twelve years.
He had spent twelve years believing Martin Hart's investigation was buried.
Now the man's daughter had uncovered it.
And somehow, Gabriel was getting closer to the truth.
Sal turned toward Voss.
“Move her.”
The dealer frowned.
“Where?”
“Somewhere Gabriel won't look.”
Voss hesitated.
“The building is already secure.”
“No building stays secure once the police start asking questions.”
“She needs equipment to finish the authentication.”
“Then bring the equipment.”
Voss leaned forward.
“And after she signs?”
Sal stared at him.
A silence passed.
Voss's expression changed.
“You never intended to release her.”
Sal didn't answer.
Voss stood.
“I agreed to force an authentication. I didn't agree to murder.”
Sal smiled coldly.
“Then perhaps you should remember how much you already know.”
Voss stopped.
For the first time, he seemed genuinely frightened.
Gabriel learned about the attempted Meridian transaction that afternoon.
Michael Bell placed a stack of documents on his desk.
“Several affiliated companies were preparing to transfer assets before the review stopped them.”
Gabriel looked up.
“Did any transfers complete?”
“A small number of preliminary steps. We're working to unwind them.”
“And Sal?”
“His office initiated the proposals.”
Gabriel stared at the paperwork.
The evidence was becoming impossible to ignore.
Still, he wanted something definitive.
A direct connection to Isabelle's disappearance.
Not merely suspicious business decisions.
He looked toward Dante.
“What do you think?”
Dante hesitated.
“I think we've trusted him too long to recognize what he's become.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
Then said, “Get Mara.”
That evening, Gabriel met with Detective Keene and Michael Bell.
They discussed the financial records, the hotel access credential, the payment to Luca Ferraro, and the messages connected to Naomi's brother.
Mara listened.
Then said, “We have significant leads, but I need you to understand something.”
Gabriel looked up.
“What?”
“If you confront Moreno before we secure the evidence, he may move Isabelle.”
Gabriel nodded.
“I know.”
“And if you retaliate against him outside the law, you could make the situation worse.”
He stared at her.
For a moment, the old reflex returned.
The urge to remind her who he was.
What he controlled.
What people feared.
Then he remembered Isabelle.
She had never admired that side of him.
She'd tolerated his past only because she believed he could choose differently.
Gabriel took a breath.
“Then tell me what I can do.”
Mara studied him.
“Preserve your records. Cooperate with the financial investigation. And don't give the kidnappers the violent reaction they're hoping for.”
He nodded.
“Understood.”
Meanwhile, Isabelle was being moved.
Two men entered her room carrying a dark coat.
“Put this on,” one ordered.
She stared.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else.”
“Why?”
The man ignored her.
Isabelle looked toward the table.
The original certificate remained there.
Unsigned.
The painting had been packed into a padded crate.
She felt a rush of panic.
If they moved her, any clues she'd left behind might become useless.
She needed to identify the new location.
Or leave another trace.
They led her through a concrete hallway toward a freight elevator.
She counted her steps.
Twenty-three to the corner.
Nine more to the elevator.
A red fire extinguisher mounted beside the door.
A faded sign reading LEVEL B.
She noticed the air smelled strongly of river water and diesel.
When the elevator opened, she saw an old industrial loading dock.
Through a narrow window, a river tug moved slowly past.
The building stood close to the Chicago River.
She couldn't tell which section.
But she noticed a landmark.
A weathered red water tower on the far bank.
Its white lettering was partially obscured.
NORTH ...
Then a guard pushed her forward.
“Move.”
Outside, a black van waited beneath a covered loading area.
The men guided her inside.
Isabelle looked down.
Near the rear wheel was a painted loading-bay number.
14.
She memorized it.
Before the door closed, she heard one guard speak.
“Tell Moreno we're clear.”
Another answered.
“Friday's still on.”
The van door slammed.
Isabelle sat in darkness.
Her heart pounded.
She didn't know whether Gabriel had received her message.
But she knew the men were taking her away from the river.
And if she didn't find another way to communicate, the trail could disappear with her.
At 10:12 p.m., Gabriel received a call from an old shipping manager named Peter Vance.
The man had worked at Northpoint Freight for eighteen years.
Gabriel barely knew him.
But Peter sounded nervous.
“Mr. Rossi, I don't know whether I should be calling.”
Gabriel sat upright.
“What is it?”
“I heard about your fiancée.”
His chest tightened.
“Go on.”
“There's an old loading property near the river. Northpoint used to lease it.”
Gabriel's pulse quickened.
“Which property?”
“Dock Fourteen.”
He looked toward Dante.
Peter continued.
“It was supposed to be shut down two years ago. But I've seen catering vans going in and out recently.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“I told Mr. Moreno's office.”
Silence.
“And?”
Peter's voice trembled.
“They told me to mind my own business.”
May you like
Gabriel looked at the photograph of Isabelle on his desk.
Then said quietly, “Peter, thank you for telling me.”
