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I walk into the penthouse. I turn on the lights. I sit on the couch in the living room. I smell a hint of chloroform. Antonovich drugged Gwen to keep her quiet.I’m coming for you, baby. Just hang in there.
I look at the view of Chicago from our penthouse. I am having second thoughts about attacking the Russians. Chicago does not need a violent war between the Outfit and the Bratva. Gwen is too vulnerable. If we go into “Velvet Handcuffs’”, with guns a blazing, the Antonovich brothers will kill her.
I need to think.
I run upstairs to my office and pull up the video feed from the penthouse’s front door camera on my desktop computer. About six men in masks run out of the elevator and immediately slit Gwen’s bodyguards’ throats. One of the masked men punches in the code to door of the penthouse. Easy peasy. Fuck! I knew the bodyguards didn’t open the door! They barely were able to defend themselves. No time. The masked men were here to kill me. The Russians assumed I was here. No one knew I was in New York, except for my father and my bodyguards.
The security code to the penthouse door changes every month. The only people who know the code are Gwen, Maria, me, and the bodyguards.How did the Russians get the code?
I subscribe to Occam's razor - a philosophical principle that states the simplest explanation is usually the best one. I also practice KISS -keep it simple, stupid. Therefore, someone I know, and trust gave the Russians the code.Who?
I start watching all of this month’s video from the penthouse’s front door camera. A long shot. The only people coming and going are Maria, the bodyguards, Gwen, and me. Nothing out of the ordinary except on the day of Maria’s birthday. Gwen and I were on our honeymoon. I see Nick, my consigliere, holding a gift bag, talking to a bodyguard. Nick and Maria have known each other for years, nothing unusual about him dropping off a birthday gift for her. Wait. I rewind the video. The bodyguard does not text Maria to come to the door, he punches in the code for the door. Nick is watching intently as the bodyguard enters in the code!What the fuck? Nick?
Nick. My consigliere betrayed me. Nick knew the address of our drug house that the Razors tried to raid. Nick knew I was going to marry Gwen Fielding before I did. Nick has known Adan Bellantoni for years. They are good friends. Nick encouraged my father to accept the arranged marriage between Gia Bellantoni and Paul Jr. Nick was not happy when my father made me capo. He expected my father to follow tradition and make Paul Jr. capo. Nick has been spending more time with Paul Jr. lately. Fucking Nick!
Nick knows everything. He has been one step ahead of me. He is working with Adan Bellantoni and the Antonovich brothers.Why?I should just kill Nick! No. Not yet. I need to find out what Nick knows.
There is a better way to take out the Russians. I think about the Antonovich brothers’ “Get Out of Jail Free Card” – the video of the DA raping and brutalizing an underage girl. A plan is forming in the back of my mind. To stop the Russians, I will have to break the Omerta code.
Omertà is the Italian code of silence that places importance on silence in the face of questioning by authorities or outsiders; non-cooperation with authorities, the government, or outsiders, especially during criminal investigations; and willfully ignoring and generally avoiding interference with the illegal activities of others. Informers are described as “rats” or “snitches”.
Retaliation against informers is common in the mob. Informers are killed.
The Outfit does not work with the police. No matter what. This goes against Omerta. But…I am Capo of the Chicago Outfit; this isn’t the old days. Modern times call for modern measures, I will use law enforcement to bring down the Antonovich brothers. I am going to rat on those fuckers. I may get killed for this. I massage my forehead with my fingertips. Time to put my plan in action.
My first phone call is to a plain clothes detective in the CPD detective and friend, Detective John Murphy. I also call a powerful Assistant District Attorney, Travis Beckman, that I went to Harvard with. The ADA is an honest man. We are not friends, but we aren’t enemies either. I set up a three-way conference call on my cellphone. I get lucky. Both men answer their cellphones.
“Detective Murphy.” John Murphy answers.
“Beckman.” ADA Travis Beckman answers.
“Gentlemen. This is Bobby Vincenzio. This is a conference call. I have three of us on the line. I am sure you two know each other. I will get right to it – I have an emergency. The police need to raid the Russian club, ‘Velvet Handcuffs’.”
“The Bratva club owned by the Antonovich brothers?” Murphy asks.
“Yes.”
“What? Why? Is this a joke?” Beckman asks.
I need to convince ADA Beckman. Not going to be easy.
“Long story. Travis, I know you have plans for running for District Attorney against DA Reinholt. If you raid the club and make arrests, I will contribute $10 million to your upcoming campaign and promise some union votes.”
“Bobby, I don’t take bribes.”
Oh, brother!
“Bobby, I thought you wanted to keep peace with the Bratva.” Murphy states.
“Reinholt will never approve this. He won’t go after the Antonovich brothers, no matter how hard I push!” Travis exclaims.
We’ll see about that.
“I have leverage. You can take him out of the running. He is a pedophile, likes underage girls. There is a video tape of him brutalizing and raping an underage eastern European girl. The Antonovich brothers secretly videotaped him. They are blackmailing him. That’s why the Russians have become untouchable.”
“Fuck!” Murphy exclaims.
“Bobby, do you have this video?” Travis asks.
