Chapter 12 - The Whisper of Wiretaps
"You knew about Pier 42?" Giancarlo sputtered, his voice dropping into a frantic hiss as several nearby councilmen stepped away from him, eager to avoid contamination.
"I know how to read ledgers, Mr. Rossi," Lily replied smoothly, taking a deliberate sip of the vintage champagne before handing the glass back to him. "When you hide stolen narcotics under the inventory of donated flour for soup kitchens, the numbers don't balance. A baker notices when ten tons of flour only yields four tons of bread."
Luca took a half-step forward, his massive frame casting a literal shadow over the older man. "Consider this your only formal notice, Giancarlo. By sunrise tomorrow, the Chicago Port Authority will seize the western warehouse. Your name is being struck from the Foundation's charter. If you ever breathe in Miss Carter's direction again, I will not bother with the authorities. I will handle it personally, in the old tradition."
Giancarlo looked between the stone-faced Don and the untouchable woman at his side. Knowing he had been utterly outflanked, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd, his gait uneven and panicked.
"That was magnificent," Luca murmured in her ear, his hand gently resting against the small of her back as they navigated toward the VIP terrace.
"It was just bookkeeping," Lily whispered back, though her heart was pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. "My father was an accountant before he died. Numbers don't lie, Luca. Men do."
"Then you are the truth this city has needed for twenty years," Luca said, his tone dropping into that warm, gravelly cadence that made her knees feel dangerously weak.
Before she could respond, Luca’s personal security chief, Marco, appeared at the periphery of the terrace. His expression was taut, his hand hovering conspicuously near the inside of his tailored jacket. He caught Luca's eye and gave a slight, sharp tilt of his head toward the service corridors.
Luca’s posture tightened instantly, slipping back into the ruthless tactician. "What is it, Marco?"
"We picked up a frequency on the local scrambler," Marco whispered as he reached them. "Someone is transmitting from inside the hotel. Direct patch to the Cook County Department of Corrections."
Lily stiffened. "Aurelia."
"She’s in solitary confinement," Luca snarled. "She has no phone privileges."
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"She didn't need a phone," Marco said darkly. "One of the hotel caterers—the head pastry chef—was paid off two hours ago. Sir, she didn't just want to ruin your reputation tonight. There's a contingency."
***
