The words hang in the air.
"Where?" I ask.
"Alley behind the orphanage. Single gunshot to the head.
Valentino enters carrying a phone. New. Still in the packaging.
"Your number's being transferred," he says, handing it to me. "Should be active in?—"
The phone rings.
Everyone freezes.
Unknown number.
I look at Pietro. He nods.
I answer and put it on speaker.
Silence for a moment. Then a voice. Male. Calm. Slightly accented—Italian, but not from Chicago. Somewhere else. Sicily, maybe. Or further south.
"Bruno Sartori."
Not a question. A statement.
"Who is this?"
"That doesn't matter." The voice is smooth. Almost pleasant. Like we're discussing the weather instead of my wife's life. "What matters is that I have something you want. And you have something I need."
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
"If you've hurt her?—"
"She's alive." He cuts me off. "For now. Whether she stays that way depends entirely on you."
Pietro's hand lands on my shoulder. A warning. Stay calm. Don't give them anything.
I force myself to breathe.
"What do you want?"
"Straight to business. I appreciate that." There's a smile in his voice. I can hear it. "This can end very easily, Mr. Sartori. No one else needs to die. Your wife can come home to you tonight, unharmed. Well—" A pause. "Mostly unharmed. We had to take her ring. I hope you understand."
The bloody fabric in the envelope.
Her ring.
They cut it off her finger.
Red clouds the edges of my vision. My hands shake with the effort of not screaming.
"Tell me what you want."
"The Morelli ledgers."
The room goes still.
I look at Pietro. His face has gone pale.