Chapter 9: The Call
Morning came too soon, announced by the scrape of metal on metal as someone unlocked the cell door. I'd barely slept, my mind spinning through scenarios and possibilities, most of which ended with Dante and me dead in some Chicago alley.
Vincent's soldier—the same thick-set man from the night before—gestured for me to follow him. No words, no threats, just professional efficiency. In Vincent's world, violence was so commonplace that explicit threats were unnecessary.
The elevator carried us back to Vincent's office, where I found him waiting with Dante and two other men I didn't recognize. One was elderly, well-dressed in the way that suggested old money rather than criminal wealth. The other was younger, with the lean build and alert posture of military training.
"Agent Martinez," Vincent said without preamble. "I trust you slept well?"
"As well as can be expected." I kept my voice steady, though my heart was racing.
"Good. Because today, you're going to prove your value to my organization." Vincent gestured to the younger man. "This is Mr. Peterson. He specializes in electronic surveillance. Mr. Peterson is going to monitor your conversation with Agent Torres to ensure you stay on script."
Ice water flooded my veins. They weren't just asking me to call Marcus—they were planning to record every word, analyze every inflection for signs of deception.
"What script?" I asked.
Vincent smiled. "The one where you tell your handler that you've uncovered a major development in your investigation. Something important enough to justify extended radio silence while you gather intelligence."
"And what development would that be?"
"Vincent Castello is planning a major expansion of his operations," Dante said, his voice carrying professional detachment. "New partnerships, new revenue streams, new territory. You've discovered preliminary evidence but need more time to document everything properly."
It was close enough to the truth to be believable, but vague enough to give us operational flexibility. I had to admire the elegant simplicity of the deception.
"Agent Torres knows me well," I said. "He'll ask specific questions."
"Then you'll give him specific answers." Vincent leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Peterson has prepared a list of details that will satisfy your handler's curiosity without revealing anything genuinely sensitive."
The older man opened a leather folder and handed me several pages of typed notes. As I read through them, I realized that Vincent's people had done their homework. Bank account numbers that existed but led to dummy corporations. Shipping schedules for legitimate cargo. Meeting locations that were real but unimportant.
"This is very detailed," I said.
"We're very thorough." Vincent's eyes never left my face. "Agent Martinez, I want you to understand something. This phone call is a test. Pass it, and you become a valued asset of my organization. Fail it, and you become a cautionary tale about the dangers of betraying Vincent Castello."
The threat was delivered with the same casual tone he might use to discuss the weather, but I could see the steel underneath. This wasn't just about convincing Marcus—it was about proving my loyalty to Vincent.
"I understand," I said.
"Excellent. Mr. Peterson?"
The younger man activated a recording device and handed me a phone—not my FBI-issued cell, but a clean device that couldn't be traced to Vincent's organization.
"Remember," Vincent said softly, "Agent Torres is listening for any sign that you're compromised. One wrong word, one suspicious hesitation, and this conversation ends very badly for everyone involved."
I took the phone with steady hands, though my pulse was hammering. In the corner of my vision, I could see Dante watching me with careful intensity. Not the professional detachment he'd shown Vincent, but genuine concern mixed with something that looked like pride.
He believed I could pull this off.
I dialed Marcus's number from memory.
He answered on the first ring. "Torres."
"Marcus, it's Elena."
"Jesus Christ, Elena! Where the hell have you been? I've been calling for two days—"
"I'm sorry. I had to go dark. Something big is developing, and I couldn't risk compromising the investigation."
There was a pause, and I could practically hear Marcus's FBI training kicking in. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled, more professional.
"What kind of development?"
"Vincent's expanding operations. New partnerships, new territory. I think he's bringing in outside organizations to help with distribution."
"What kind of organizations?"
I glanced at the notes Vincent's people had prepared. "Russian contacts, possibly Bratva. They're meeting next week to discuss terms."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Elena, are you somewhere secure? Can you talk freely?"
The question sent ice through my veins. Marcus suspected something was wrong. One wrong answer, and he'd activate emergency protocols that would bring the entire Chicago field office down on Vincent's warehouse.
"I'm following a lead," I said carefully. "Meeting with someone who claims to have inside information about Vincent's expansion plans."
"Who?"
"A shipping company employee. Someone with access to manifests and cargo schedules." I was improvising now, building on the cover story Vincent had prepared. "Marcus, this could be the break we've been waiting for."
"Elena." His voice carried the authority of a senior agent and the concern of someone who'd been my partner for three years. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. If you're in any kind of trouble, if someone is forcing you to make this call, just say the word 'impossible.' Can you do that?"
My throat tightened. Marcus was offering me a way out, a emergency code that would bring help immediately. All I had to do was say one word, and FBI tactical teams would be mobilized within minutes.
But saying that word would also mean the end of our operation, the end of any chance to bring down Vincent's organization, and almost certainly the end of Dante's life.
I looked across the room at Dante, whose expression remained professionally neutral despite the fact that his future hung on my next words.
"Marcus, I understand your concern, but this isn't impossible. It's the opportunity we've been waiting for."
Relief flickered across Dante's features, so briefly I might have imagined it.
"Alright," Marcus said, though he still sounded suspicious. "How long do you need?"
"A week, maybe two. Long enough to document everything properly and identify key players."
"Elena, this goes against every protocol we have for undercover operations. You're supposed to check in daily, maintain regular contact—"
"This source is paranoid. He won't meet if he thinks I'm in regular contact with law enforcement." I was building the lie as I spoke, but it sounded convincing even to me. "Marcus, we're talking about the biggest break in the Castello investigation since it started. Don't let protocol cost us this opportunity."
Another long pause. I could imagine Marcus weighing the risks against the potential benefits, calculating the odds of success against the probability of disaster.
"Two weeks," he said finally. "But Elena, if I don't hear from you in fourteen days, I'm declaring you compromised and mobilizing every available resource to find you."
"Understood."
"And Elena? Whatever you're doing, whoever you're meeting with, remember that no investigation is worth your life. If things go bad, get out immediately."
The concern in his voice made my throat tighten with guilt. Marcus was trying to protect me, and I was lying to his face while surrounded by the very criminals he was warning me about.
"I will," I said. "I promise."
"Stay safe, Elena. And call me the moment you have something concrete."
The line went dead.
I set the phone down with steady hands, though my heart was racing. Around the room, Vincent's men watched me with the predatory patience of apex predators evaluating prey.
"Well done," Vincent said finally. "Very convincing. Agent Torres suspects nothing."
That wasn't entirely true—Marcus definitely suspected something was wrong. But he was also a career FBI agent who understood that the most important cases required calculated risks.
"Mr. Peterson?" Vincent asked.
The surveillance specialist reviewed his equipment, then nodded. "No signs of deception. Stress indicators were consistent with someone operating in dangerous circumstances, but not with someone under duress."
Vincent smiled, and for the first time since I'd entered his office, he looked genuinely pleased.
"Excellent. Agent Martinez, congratulations. You've just become the most valuable asset my organization has ever acquired."
The words should have filled me with dread. Instead, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. We'd passed the first test. Our deception was holding.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now, you begin earning your keep. Dante will brief you on your new responsibilities and living arrangements." Vincent turned to Dante. "Make sure she understands the expectations. And the consequences of disappointment."
"Of course," Dante replied.
As we headed toward the elevator, Vincent called out one final instruction.
"Agent Martinez? Welcome to the family. I hope you'll find the experience... educational."
The elevator doors closed on Vincent's smile, and I realized that we'd successfully crossed the threshold into territory no FBI manual had ever prepared me for. We were now operating completely outside official channels, beyond any hope of backup or extraction.
But as I felt Dante's presence beside me, steady and protective despite the danger surrounding us, I also realized that I'd never felt more alive.
We were playing the most dangerous game imaginable, and somehow, I was starting to believe we might actually win.