Page 72 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

Almost immediately, a video file appears on the screen, and I hit play. The mayor comes into view, smiling like he’s won the lottery. Confusion hits me for a split second.

“Adriano Bellandini, I just wanted to say that I have something you want.”

Then the camera pans, and my blood freezes. There in the chair, bound with thick ropes around her body and duct tape around her mouth, is Elena. Her hair is disheveled, her eyes teary, and the end of her gown ripped. My chest tightens with absolute fury.

I immediately look for any signs that they laid their fucking hands on her, but there’s no scar, blood, or bruise as far as I can see. And then the camera swings back to the mayor’s face.

“Three days,” he continues, unfazed. “You will stop all investigation into our late friend, Marco Bellandini, the ex-commissioner, and the late, unlamented Don Valente.”

My jaw tightens as the pieces click violently into place in my mind.

“Then you’ll present yourself at the old waterfront warehouse on Pier 17. Alone. You’ll be arrested by my men. The public narrative will be perfectly clean.”

My hands shake.

“It’s a pity all your years of revenge have led here. But I must warn you, try to play the hero, and the beautiful Elena Rossi will be found at the bottom of the East River. The evidence will be compelling… that you killed the prosecutor and the young lady. The case will be framed as a crime of passion from a psychotic, jealous lover.”

Elena’s muffled grunts reach my ears, and I clench my fist, my knuckles blanching as I watch the mayor’s lips pull into a twisted smile.

“The odds are against you, Adriano. And the clock is ticking.”

The video ends, and for a minute, the world narrows down to absolute darkness. All I see is my own fury. Fuck!

A guttural curse rips from my throat as I drive my fist into the steel wall. The impact echoes violently through the small room, but I barely hear it. A chaotic rush of Elena’s terrified face, my mother’s lifeless eyes, and the entire Bellandini family massacre come crashing down all at once.

Fuck!

“Capo, let’s first take a deep breath.”

“How the fuck did you get that video?” My voice is a distorted grunt.

“I received the file a few minutes ago. The number is untraceable.”

My fist tightens around the phone so hard that the casing creaks. A fresh wave of annihilating rage overwhelms me, and I want nothing more than to storm his mansion, guns blazing, and paint his walls with the blood of every single man standing between Elena and me.

But I bet that’s exactly what he expects. He wants me to walk into his perfectly set trap like a wild, predictable animal. I can’t be that stupid…at least not now.

“What’s his involvement in all of this?” I ask, forcing my voice to calm down even as my mind still races.

He demanded we stop the investigation into our late friend. He mentioned everyone from my father to the ex-police commissioner.

Enzo had said the ex-police commissioner brought Caughn to the association, claiming there was a mole in the police system and that he needed their help.

What’s the mayor’s part in all of this? Framing me, then asking me to surrender? Why is my defeat so important to him?

“I don’t know, Capo. But he’s clearly some sort of godfather in all this.”

I nod, walking back to take my seat. I have a deadline, and I still need to find Caughn—the only bastard who can give us answers now.

“We find the fucking family in Utah. They’re the only loose thread he hasn’t snipped yet.” I hope.

Francesco shuffles on the other end. “We’re still stuck, Boss. We can’t find the ex-police commissioner’s family.”

“Walk me through it again. Not what we did. What he did.”

I place the phone on speaker, dropping it beside the computer as I open a map of the Western U.S., zooming into Utah. Now, we have to think like the man who erased them. The ex-commissioner was a powerful man, meticulous, too. He wouldn’t hide his family in plain sight.

Francesco takes a breath before the rapid taps of his fingers against the keyboard fill my ear. “He resigned quietly two years ago. No big scandal, just family time. His wife, Liza, sells their house in Westchester. The money goes into a trust, then vanishes. The kids are pulled from their private schools…”