Page 10 of Vicious Behaviors
“Is there something unclear about that, Agent Graham?” Her tone is flat, but not unkind. Just very matter of fact.
“I just… wasn’t expecting that. Is there something big going down? A new syndicate emerging, maybe?”
She leans back in her chair, her expression illegible. “TheBratvastill has minor affiliations there, but nothing concerning at the moment.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why am I going to Chicago?”
A slow smile curves her lips, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I say nothing, watching her closely. “You’re being assigned to a newly formed task force,” she says. “Its mission is singular.” I feel my pulse tick up as she leans forward slightly. “To take down one of the oldest, most influential crime syndicates in the country.” Another beat. “The Outfit.”
The lights in the Chicago Field Office buzz and crackle like static on a wiretap. Mechanical, artificial, always humming, buzzing. I sit still, back straight, hands folded on the scratched-up metal table, trying to conceal my nerves.
Special Agent Marcus Haynes slides a folder toward me. “Open it.”
I do as he says, and a photograph of a man in his early twenties pops front and center. I forget to breathe as the photo feels like it’s staring back at me. Almost as if he could see me through the paper. It’s his eyes—sad and distant. As if they belonged to someone watching the world from a far-off cliff. They’re so unnerving that I’m tempted to push the photographaside and pick up something else. But I know better. Haynes is watching my reaction, measuring whether I’m ready for what this assignment will demand. So I force myself to look at every picture and peruse every line of text.
The subject is tall. Six-foot-four, if the intel is right. Built like a man who knows exactly how to use his size and muscled frame in a fight. His hair is a dark blond that borders on gold when the sun hits it right, but somehow still manages to look like it belongs to a villain in a fable.
It feels like each picture is another revealing of his villain’s origin story.
Everything about him screams out, ‘Don’t get close.’
Which is a problem, because I’m pretty sure my new job requirement demands the exact opposite.
“Do you know who he is?” Agent Haynes finally asks, keeping his tone even, as if testing me.
I nod, flipping to the next page, and reply, “Marcello Romano. Second son of the Romano family, and if the rumors are true, he’s also the heir apparent to the Outfit’s throne.” When Haynes doesn’t correct me, I keep going. “He comes from old money and an even older bloodline. His father, Vincent Amato Romano, is the currentCapo dei Capiand has been so since his predecessor, and uncle, Salvatore Romano, died peacefully in his sleep almost two decades ago. Or so the story goes. Vincent is more shadow than man. As for Marcello? He’s just as controlled. Rumored to be dangerous even to his own men. Though he’s never been charged with anything. Not even a parking ticket.”
“Until now.” Haynes leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “We think he’s behind Father McDonagh’s disappearance. In fact, we believe he’s killed him.”
I raise a brow. “Are you talking about the priest who vanished last month, just before Christmas?”
“You know the case?”
“Honestly, since I’ve arrived in the city, that’s all anyone seems to talk about. Even the cab driver who brought me here today was lamenting about it. But I thought this was a missing person’s case.”
‘A case that’s run cold with no leads to speak of,’I think to myself, instead of uttering that thought out loud. Something tells me Haynes wouldn’t appreciate my bluntness.
“As far as the public is concerned, it is.” He nods, leaving the rest unsaid.
“Okay… but where does Romano fit into the equation?”
“Simple. The priest was last seen at Sacred Heart. It’s a private Catholic school for prominent families.”
“Marcello doesn’t exactly look like he’s still in high school,” I counter, still confused about what the heir to a criminal empire has to do with the missing priest.
“He’s not. But three of his younger siblings are enrolled there. We have witnesses who place him and them at the school the day the priest disappeared.”
“With the priest?”
“No,” he admits, scowling. “That we don’t have. Nor do we have a motive. But the way Father McDonagh vanished? Clean, silent, not leaving so much as a trace? It reeks of mafia cleanup. We think the body must have been disposed of before the priest was even reported missing.”
I frown, not bothering to hide my skepticism. Haynes is reaching. When ASAC gave me this assignment, I was over the moon. Finally, we were going after the Outfit. But this? Pinning a priest’s disappearance on a Romano with no motive, no murder weapon, and not a single witness tying the two together? It’s a stretch. A big one.
However, if Director Rodrick still sent me here, there must be more that Haynes is not saying.
Having decided to see this assignment through, I close the case file, look Haynes dead in the eye, and ask, “What are my orders?”
