Chapter 2 - The Poisoner's Ledger
By 8:00 AM, the Bellavita estate was locked down tighter than a federal penitentiary.
The iron gates at the perimeter were sealed. Twenty additional guards armed with automatic rifles patrolled the brick walls surrounding the twelve-acre estate in River Forest. No one entered; no one left.
In the primary study on the ground floor—a vast, book-lined room furnished with red leather armchairs and a heavy mahogany desk—Rocco Bellavita sat drinking dark Italian coffee. Across from him stood his primary legal advisor and lifelong friend, Counselor Santino "The Pen" Moretti, a sharp man of sixty-five with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
Santino had just finished reviewing the documents found in Vincent’s leather folder, along with the preliminary report from the private toxicologist who had examined the pills in the basement.
"It’s arsenic and synthetic succinylcholine," Santino said, laying his pen down on the desk with a heavy sigh. "In micro-doses. Administered daily over a period of four to six months, it mimics the symptoms of rapid-onset vascular dementia and motor-neuron decay. It leaves almost no trace in a standard blood screen unless the lab specifically searches for synthetic neuromuscular blockers."
Rocco took a slow sip of his coffee. The bitter warmth settled in his chest, sharpening his focus. "And the legal documents?"
"Masterfully executed," Santino admitted, a note of grim professional respect in his voice. "If you had signed these under the influence of the drugs—or if Voss had declared you incompetent before the family council today—Vincent would have had legal control over every bank account, shipping dock, and real estate holding registered under the Bellavita umbrella. Legitimate and underground."
Rocco leaned back in his leather chair. "Vincent didn't write those documents. He doesn't have the brains for corporate law."
"No, he doesn't," Santino agreed. "The paperwork was drafted by a senior partner at Sterling & Sterling—the law firm that represents the Lucchesi family."
Rocco’s dark eyes flashed. "So my nephew didn't just want my seat. He sold the entire family to Joseph Lucchesi."
Before Santino could answer, the heavy oak door of the study opened. Marco stepped inside, holding a battered metal lockbox wrapped in a black plastic bag.
"Boss," Marco said, setting the box down on the mahogany desk. "We found this hidden inside the wall cavity behind the medicine cabinet in Dr. Voss's private office downtown. My boys had to break a few fingers on his receptionist to get the location."
Rocco motioned for Marco to open it.
Marco used a heavy hunting knife to pop the small lock. The lid flipped open, revealing a thick, red leather ledger book and several flash drives.
Santino stepped closer, pulling on a pair of white latex gloves before picking up the ledger. He flipped through the handwritten pages, his eyes widening with every turn of the sheet.
"This isn't just Voss's private record," Santino whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "It’s a hit list, Rocco. Voss wasn't just a doctor; he was a freelance poisoner for the high-table families in the Midwest."
"Read me the entries," Rocco demanded.
"Sixteen months ago," Santino read, "Aldo Moretti. Cause of death: cardiac arrest. Medication adjusted by Dr. Voss."
Rocco’s fist clenched tightly around his coffee cup. Aldo was his younger brother—Vincent’s father—who had died unexpectedly two years prior. Rocco had always believed Aldo died of natural causes.
"Keep reading," Rocco growled.
"Ten months ago," Santino continued, "Frankie 'The Bull' Lucchesi. Died of a stroke. Eight months ago... Mayor Thomas Callahan's chief of staff. Cause of death: liver failure." Santino looked up, his face drained of color. "And starting six months ago, every payment made to Voss for your treatment came directly from a private holding account registered in the Cayman Islands. Account holder: Vincent Moretti."
Rocco sat in absolute stillness.
The pieces of the puzzle assembled themselves in his mind with horrifying clarity. Vincent hadn't just targetted Rocco; he had murdered his own father, Aldo, to inherit his family seat on the council. Then, working hand-in-hand with Joseph Lucchesi, he had systematically eliminated every loyal lieutenant who might have questioned Rocco’s sudden 'illness.'
"Where is Vincent now?" Rocco asked softly.
"In the basement holding cell next to Voss," Marco replied. "He’s been screaming for his lawyer for two hours."
"Bring him up," Rocco said. "And bring Mariah and Sophia to the small dining room upstairs. I want them fed, comfortable, and guarded by six of your best men."
"Right away, Boss," Marco nodded, exiting the study.
Santino looked at Rocco, his expression dark. "What are you going to do, Rocco? If you execute Vincent, his mother—your sister, Teresa—will never forgive you. She still believes her son is a saint."
Rocco stood up, walking toward the grand floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the front driveway.
"Teresa lost her husband to Vincent's poison," Rocco said, his voice flat as granite. "When she sees this ledger, she will hand me the gun herself."
He turned back to Santino.
"Call a full emergency meeting of the Commission for six o'clock tonight at the Grand Plaza Hotel. Every boss in Chicago must attend."
May you like
Santino gasped. "The Commission? Rocco, half those men think you're bedridden! If you call a full Commission meeting, Lucchesi will know the hit failed!"
"That is precisely why I am calling it," Rocco said, a cold, dangerous smile touching his lips. "I want Joseph Lucchesi to walk into that room expecting to see my corpse wrapped in a legal petition. And I want him to see me sitting at the head of the table."
