"We have an issue," I announce as I walk into Enzo's home office.
"What kind of issue?" he asks.
"There are discrepancies in our accounts. Someone is taking money from us in small amounts, but in total, they've stolen nearly three-hundred-thousand from us."
"What the fuck!" Enzo exclaims. "How is that even possible?"
"From what I've found, I think it's someone from the casino. There are differences between the bets being made, the money being won and lost, and the money actually in our accounts."
"Do you know who?"
"Not yet, I might be able to trace the missing amounts to a specific cage, but I would probably need some help with the IP addresses and code. I don't think I can go through all the numbers by myself without some kind of program to sort through the patterns."
"Cazzo!" he shouts. "Go get Santiago from his den and bring him up so we can talk about it. I'll call Reese and see if he can come in to help write a program for you."
"Reese is on vacation with his husband. I promised we wouldn't drag him away for the next two weeks," I remind him.
"Merda, I forgot. He deserves a break. Fine, we'll figure it out. Just go get Santiago."
Nodding my head, I exit the office and head down to the secured door of Santiago's den of hell. Our three-story house stands just outside the city of Chicago on a large private lot—fenced and equipped with a fuckload of security, of course. The first and second floors are a normal house, well, as normal as possible for three billionaires who also have an arsenal and safe-room. The top floor is special; that's the floor that we had custom-made for whenever we find our girl. And the basement is a soundproof lair where Santiago gets information and answers.
Living in Chicago makes everything more accessible, but it also limits our space in comparison to our territory in Italy. The two twenty-five-story buildings downtown and our house are by no means small, but compared to the entire country of Italy, it's just not as impressive. Our first building downtown holds the lobby and a restaurant on the first two floors, with offices for our various businesses up to the twenty-third floor, and conference rooms on the twenty-fourth floor. The second building is a large hotel, with another restaurant on the first floor.
The twenty-fifth floor in both buildings is off-limits to almost everyone else. In the office building, the floor holds our personal offices. And in the hotel, the floor holds a penthouse for when we don't feel like taking the trip back to the house.
I scan my handprint and enter the code on the door before opening the reinforced steel and descending the stairs. The door closes behind me, and the screams ring in my ears.
"Merda, qui c'è odore di sangue, fratello," I say with a laugh as my eyes rest on Santiago standing next to a hanging body, covered in blood. (Shit, it smells like blood in here, bro)
"Finalmente l'ho fatto parlare," he responds, smiling like the sick sadistic fuck he is. "Ha venduto informazioni sulle nostre prossime due spedizioni di droga agli americani, probabilmente Patelli o Brooks." (I finally got him talking. He sold information about our next two drug shipments to the Americans, probably Patelli or Brooks.)
"Possiamo cambiare le date, ma ci costerà dei soldi." (We can change the dates, but it will cost us money)
"I'm sorry, please," the barely conscious guy sobs.
"Enzo needs to talk to us upstairs," I tell Santiago, ignoring the traitor.
"Well then, I guess this is the end of our fun," he smiles at the guy. He slits his throat, not even moving to get out of the way of all the blood. "Okay, we can go."
"Enzo will kill you if you drip blood upstairs. Shower first."
"Fine, I'll meet you up there in like five minutes," he rolls his eyes before walking over to the bathroom.
Santiago finally meets Enzo and me back in the office, where we look through the accounts and logs to try and pickup on any patterns.
"We aren't going to be able to see the patterns without a program to run all the numbers through. We're going to need someone to code something for us," I say, running a hand through my hair. Enzo's phone rings, and his eyes harden when he hears what the person on the other side says.
"Okay, we'll be there soon. Thirty minutes, tops."
"What happened?" I ask.
"Someone called the front desk of the hotel from the phone in my room in our penthouse. They said to contact us and that we need to meet with them there."
"Did they send security up?" Santiago asks.
"Ten minutes ago. Security team hasn't returned or responded, but the person called and said that the next people through that door is either us, or dead. And considering they managed to not only get into our penthouse, but also incapacitate five of our security guys, I think this is something we need to handle ourselves."
"Yeah, let's go," I agree. We head to the garage and pile into Enzo's car. Whoever this is, they'll be dead or hired within the next hour.
YOU ARE READING
Weaponizing Wren
Romance"Matteo Brooks killed my father for his power, which means we have a common enemy. You need me if you want to take him down." "Why would we need some spoiled mafia princess?" "Because you want what everyone else wants. Eduardo Patelli's secret weapo...
