The warehouse on the south branch of the Chicago River sat behind a rusted chain-link fence, nestled between abandoned grain elevators and scrap-metal yards.

Inside, beneath the harsh glare of an overhead halogen bulb, a middle-aged man sat tied to an industrial steel chair.

Tommy Callahan, personal driver and errand-boy to Arthur Ashworth for fifteen years, was sweating through his stained blue shirt. His nose was broken, dried blood caking his upper lip, and his knees were shaking uncontrollably against the chair legs.

Dante stood three paces away, rolling down his shirtsleeves over tattooed forearms.

The heavy iron door groaned open.

Alessandro stepped into the pool of light. He had removed his jacket, wearing only a black waistcoat and trousers, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. In his right hand, he carried a manila folder.

Callahan looked up, his bloodshot eyes widening in terror.

“Mr. Rienzi! Please! I didn't know anything, I swear to God! Mr. Ashworth just told me to deliver the packages!”

Alessandro pulled an empty wooden crate over, sat down five feet from the trembling driver, and opened the folder.

“Tommy,” Alessandro’s voice was conversational, almost soothing. “Do you know what happens to men who transport stolen encrypted hard drives across state lines on behalf of Richard Vance?”

Callahan began to weep. “I had debts, Mr. Rienzi! Gambling debts with the Irish out in Canaryville! Ashworth said he’d clear them if I ran the couriers!”

“I don't care about your gambling debts, Tommy,” Alessandro said softly, flipping through three pages of surveillance photos.

The photos showed Callahan meeting with Genevieve behind a coffee shop in Evanston. In one picture, Genevieve was handing Callahan a silver flash drive. In another, Callahan was passing that same drive to Richard Vance’s chief enforcer inside a parking garage on Wacker Drive.

“What was on that drive, Tommy?”

“The security bypass codes!” Callahan sobbed, spitting blood onto the concrete. “For the Rienzi automated terminal at Pier 14! Miss Ashworth… she copied them off your study computer three nights ago while you were in New York!”

Alessandro didn't flinch. He had anticipated it. The study computer held dummy files he had seeded two weeks ago when he first suspected a leak in his shipping manifests.

“And what is Vance planning to do with those codes?” Alessandro asked.

Callahan hesitated.

Dante took one step forward, the leather of his holster creaking.

“The night before the wedding!” Callahan shrieked, cowering against the back of the chair. “Tomorrow night! During the rehearsal dinner! Vance’s men are using the codes to swap out the customs tracking chips on forty freight containers arriving from Antwerp! They’re loading eighty million dollars in stolen bearer bonds and military-grade weaponry into your containers!”

The plot snapped into crystal-clear focus.

“They aren't trying to steal the terminals,” Alessandro murmured, half to himself. “They’re setting up a federal raid.”

“Yes!” Callahan wept. “Once the containers are tagged under your company’s manifest, Vance’s contact at Homeland Security stages a massive bust at Pier 14 on your wedding morning. You get arrested on federal racketeering and arms trafficking charges. Under the terms of the merger contract, if you are incarcerated or indicted, full executive control of the maritime terminals defaults to your legal spouse: Genevieve Ashworth!”

A masterstroke.

Ruthless, brilliant, and completely legal on paper. Alessandro would spend the next twenty years fighting federal indictments in a supermax facility while Genevieve and Vance stripped his empire down to the bone.

Alessandro stood up. He walked over to Callahan, placed a heavy hand on the man's trembling shoulder, and leaned in close.

“Tommy.”

“Yes, sir? Please don't kill me, Mr. Rienzi!”

“I’m not going to kill you, Tommy,” Alessandro whispered. “In fact, you are going to get your debts cleared. Because tomorrow night, you are going to deliver another package to Richard Vance.”

Callahan blinked through his tears. “What… what package?”

Alessandro smiled—a cold, terrifying baring of teeth.

“The real codes, Tommy. Or at least, the codes that will make sure Richard Vance and his entire crew are waiting at Pier 14 when the trap snaps shut.”