Chapter Sixteen

Giovanni Lombardo

A DX Prison, the Federal supermax prison, two hours from Denver, Fremont County...

"Not to sound facetious, Boss, but you do know that no one has ever escaped the Alcatraz of the Rockies."

Lombardo cut a sharp glare at Luca Guzmán, said to be the nephew of Joaquín "El Chapo" Guzmán Loera. "Who said anything about a jailbreak, Luca? We're just here to visit our client."

"I still don't understand how you managed to fool the authorities into believing you're Iceman's attorney."

"I would've thought you learned how the world we live in worked through your uncle," Lombardo sneered. "Money talks, my dear boy, and there are always hungry officials, even at the top level, who have a continued desire to fill their pockets." Lombardo lit his favorite Gurkha Royal Courtesan cigar and breathed in the comforting aroma of tobacco smoke.

"Besides,"— his voice lowered as he stared at the glowing red tip—"you know as well as I do that visiting rights are restricted to inmates for the first six months, and since Iceman is only in the fifth month of his sentence, the only visits he is allowed are from his legal team."

Lombardo had learned at the hand of the best of the best. His grandfather had taught him to keep all avenues covered to ensure success in remaining the top dog. He had taken him at his word and now owned shell companies across various corporate categories— casinos, liquor retailers, transport, and even a legal firm, among others.

Lombardo dragged on the cigar, watching the woolly rings of smoke floating toward the open window before dissipating into the atmosphere.

"Not that I had to pay anyone to gain access as Iceman's attorney. Here's a little inside information that not many people know, Luca. I am a qualified and listed attorney in the United States state bar association, so for all intents and purposes, I am now Iceman's attorney."

Lombardo leaned back in his seat, gazing out the window of the sleek black SUV as it wound its way through the desolate Colorado landscape. The barren expanse stretched out before him in a sea of muted browns and grays. Jagged rock formations jutted up from the Earth like ancient, weathered sentinels. The occasional scrub brush dotted the terrain as they clung stubbornly to life in this unforgiving environment.

He savored his Gurkha Royal Courtesan cigar, rolling the rich smoke across his palate before exhaling slowly. The complex flavors danced on his tongue— notes of aged tobacco, leather, and a hint of spice. Lombardo closed his eyes momentarily, allowing himself to be transported by the luxurious experience. It was a brief respite from the tension of the upcoming visit.

"We're here, Boss," Luca muttered as they approached ADX Florence, and the imposing structure came into view. The prison complex sprawled across the landscape in stark contrast to the natural surroundings. High concrete walls were topped with razor wire that encircled the facility, while guard towers loomed at regular intervals, kept under control by vigilant armed guards.

"Fucking depressing place if you ask me."

"You said it, Boss."

The SUV pulled up to the first checkpoint, where heavily armed guards approached with purposeful strides. Lombardo felt a flicker of irritation as one of the guards rapped on his window and gestured for him to lower it.

"Identification and purpose of visit," the guard barked in a brusque and impersonal tone.

Lombardo gritted his teeth but forced a neutral expression as he handed over his credentials.

"Attorney visit for inmate Angelo Grecco," he replied smoothly, making a point of using Iceman's real name.

The guard scrutinized the documents, then nodded curtly. "Proceed to the next checkpoint for processing."

As they drove through, Lombardo had to consciously unclench his jaw. He, Don Lombardo, the most powerful mafia leader of the Five Families of New York, was reduced to being treated like a common civilian by these ignorant nitwits. It grated against every fiber of his being, but he knew he had to maintain his composure. The stakes were too high to let his pride jeopardize the mission.

They passed through two more checkpoints, each more rigorous than the last. Full body scans, metal detectors, and a thorough search of their vehicle were all part of the intense security measures. Lombardo's irritation grew with each indignity, but he forced himself to remain outwardly calm.

"If one more motherfucker prods at me, I'm gonna lose it," he grinded through clenched teeth.

"Remember why we're here, Boss," Luca murmured as they were led into the visitor processing area.

Lombardo gave a barely perceptible nod. He took a deep breath, anticipating the meeting ahead. Iceman was like a brother to him. That he ended up in jail wasn't only an inconvenience, it had also slowed the progress they had been making to suppress the growth of smaller mafia groups across the States. He needed him back by his side. One way or the other, he had to find a way to make that happen.

As they were escorted to the attorney/client rooms in the visiting area, Lombardo's beady eyes darted back and forth as he evaluated the positions of cameras and additional security measures. Luca was right. They passed too many cameras and motion detectors to count as metal doors slid open and closed behind them. Escape from this hellhole would be near impossible, especially since it had been able to hold the younger man's uncle behind bars for over seven years already. A man who had managed to escape the well-guarded Mexican maximum-security prisons twice.

"Wait here. The prisoner is on the way," the guard grumbled in a bored voice. The atmosphere in the room grew increasingly oppressive. The stark fluorescent lighting cast harsh shadows on the bare gray walls, creating an almost clinical ambiance.

"I can't fucking breathe," he muttered as the air felt thick and stagnant with the added scents of industrial cleaning products stinging his nostrils.

"Just relax, Boss. You don't want to draw unnecessary attention."

"I'm not a fucking idiot," Lombardo sneered as he clenched and relaxed his fists. The tension slowly drained from his body. They didn't have long to wait. Lombardo winced as Iceman appeared, heavily dragged down with leg irons, handcuffs, and stomach chains. The only consolation was that since this was an official attorney/client visit with the purpose of conducting legal business, the attending official had to stay out of hearing distance.

"Fuck," he sneered as he looked at Iceman, and it truly hit him for the first time. It was as clear as day in the once indestructible assassin's face— this place was designed to cut prisoners off from the outside world. He'd heard the rumors that the supermax was like life after death. To those who got long-term sentences like Iceman, it was far worse than death. He was by nature a jovial man— a people's person. He loved to talk, to socialize. Five months of twenty-three hours a day alone in a seven-by-twelve-foot concrete cell, and he looked like a ghost.

"It's good to see you, Angelo," Lombardo murmured as the guard moved to stand by the door after having secured the prisoner to the steel rings attached to the steel table.

Iceman's eyes darted to the guard. Lombardo followed his gaze but relaxed when he placed earphones in his ears, and the soft din of music reached them.

"I had begun to think you forgot about me."

"You know that's not true, Iceman. You hold a very dear place in my heart. I don't have to tell you that."

Iceman sighed heavily as he looked around, heavy-lidded. He didn't seem like the same man, and that concerned Lombardo. It produced a problem since he needed him to have the same drive and energy as he always had. Otherwise, there was no way they would find a way to get him released.

"Yeah, this fucking place... it's a psychological deathtrap, Giovanni. If I don't get out of here, you won't have to come visit me again in a couple of months. I have no desire to live in a seven-by-five concrete cage with barely a streak of light for the next twenty-plus years."

Iceman didn't receive a life sentence since they couldn't pin any murders, conspiracies, or mafia criminal activities on him that stuck in court. The U.S. Attorney, however, pushed for the supermax sentence since he claimed to have provided enough proof that he had associations with the mob and that he was a danger to society and other inmates. Since he was guilty of hijacking Max DuPont's plane and putting the entire crew's life in danger, the court ruled in his favor.

"This was a setup, Giovanni. For the actual crime I was charged with, I shouldn't be here. At worst, I should be at Rikers Island. I'm telling you, I was placed here to draw out the Genolere Mafia." His voice lowered to a whisper as the sharpness of his usual mind shone through. Lombardo realized his listless attitude was an act to throw off the guards. "They're after the leader. I get the impression they believe you'd attempt a jailbreak."

"This place is impenetrable, so it's not worth the effort," Lombardo said. He leaned back in the chair, keeping an eye on the guard but relaxed as the faint music reached his ears. "No, we need to find another way."

"There is one way." Although Iceman's eyes glimmered with awareness, his lids remained heavy, his expression dour and empty. "Henry Cobalt."

"The judge who ruled over your case?" Lombardo's eyes sharpened.

"The one and only. Look into him. I got the impression during the trial that the sentence had already been decided the day I walked into that courtroom for the first time. There was also talk that the jury was hung, but that was suppressed, which tells me that those who didn't agree were somehow silenced— probably bought off or killed. Someone made sure protocols were sidelined by the judge and the jury to see me buried at supermax."

"FBI? CIA?" Lombardo shook his head. "That would be very stupid of them."

"I suspect it wasn't either. My gut tells me we need to look closer to home."

"One of the Five Family Mafia groups." Lombardo finally caught the drift of what Angelo was alluding to.

"Maybe even one of the smaller ones looking to expand... like the Sandolens Group in Chicago." He shrugged. "I've heard there have been serious developments in their ranks. My cousin, Sanchez Grecco, is one of their Street Bosses. Before I got caught, he boasted about one day sitting at the Cosa Nostra table."

"So, who do I pay a visit to, Angelo? Your cousin Sanchez or Judge Henry Cobalt."

"Sanchez is a follower. Give him an order, and he'll do whatever he is told. Cobalt is supposed to be a follower of the law. He broke the law; he knew the jury was hung, and he still continued with the sentencing. As much as I was guilty, so was he. At the very least, you'll get the information we need from him, perhaps even get my sentence revoked with the necessary incentive... and then... Well, you do what you want with him." He leaned forward. "Just do it quickly, Giovanni. I need to get out of this fucking tomb!"

"It'll be done. Just don't lose faith." Lombardo got up and headed to the door. "We're done," he said to the guard.

The exit process was just as cumbersome and annoying as their entry had been. By the time they were heading back to the private airstrip, Lombardo's patience was stretched thin.

"The honorable Judge Henry Cobalt," he said the moment the plane was airborne. "Find all the information you can about him, as well as the jury that presided over Iceman's case. I want video recordings of the entire court case and ruling. By the time we land, I want to know where Cobalt is. Make sure a team is ready when we touch down." His eyes turned glacial.

"Cobalt will not see the sun rising in the morning."

Giovanni Lombardo

F armstead Lane, Glen Head, Brookville, NY...

The Cobalt family's peaceful evening was shattered in an instant. Five men, clad entirely in black with faces obscured by balaclavas, glided into the opulent dining room like wraiths. Their movements were fluid and practiced but eerily silent despite their imposing presence. Each man exuded an aura of lethal competence, their bodies taut with barely restrained violence.

"Oh, c'mon, Clyde. That band is ancient!"

"So? They're still better than any of the modern ones you just— What the—"

The exuberant chatter of the two teenage children, engaged in a spirited debate about rock bands, died abruptly. The girl's scream got caught in her throat and instead, emerged as a choked whimper when one of the masked men held a finger to his lips in warning. Her brother's face drained of color as his eyes turned wide with terror.

"Oh my God!" Maureen Cobalt's hand flew to her mouth, stifling her fear. She instinctively reached for her children, the maternal instinct to protect overriding her own fear.

"I suggest you instruct your children to behave," — the leader's voice was cold, devoid of emotion— "or you can be assured we will silence them... permanently." The threat hanging in the air was heavy and palpable.

Judge Henry Cobalt's face was ashen, but he straightened his shoulders and forced a calm he clearly didn't feel.

"Stay calm, kids. Daddy will take care of this." His voice only trembled slightly, betraying the fear that gripped him.

"Oh, yes, Judge Cobalt. You are going to take care of it. Make no mistake about that." The voice dripped with sarcasm.

Lombardo, who had been doing the talking, looked around the room, taking in the ostentatious display of wealth. The dining room was a study in luxury with a massive crystal chandelier that cast a warm glow over the hand-carved mahogany table, set with fine bone china and gleaming silver. Priceless artwork adorned the walls, and plush Persian rugs covered the marble floors.

"Hmm, nice place," he murmured.

Through the open doors, he glimpsed other rooms equally lavish— a living room with leather sofas and a state-of-the-art entertainment system and a study lined with leather-bound books and featuring an antique desk that probably cost more than most people's cars.

"Quite the lifestyle you've got here." He gestured around the room with a gloved hand. "I wonder, Your Honor, how much of this luxury was paid for by criminals like me?" His eyes narrowed behind the balaclava. "Because I have no doubt it didn't come from your salary as a Federal judge."

The accusation hung in the air, adding another layer of tension to the already fraught atmosphere. Maureen Cobalt's eyes darted toward her husband, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. Lombardo was amused by how the children huddled closer together. Their earlier argument was forgotten in the face of this terrifying intrusion into their privileged world.

"Tie them up," he ordered coldly, unmoved by the whimpering of the woman and children. Henry jumped up as he attempted to protect them the best he could.

"Is that really necessary? They are innocent. Please! Why don't you just lock them in a room with one of your men to guard them?"

"You're under the misconception that you have any power in this altercation, Judge. This isn't a negotiation. No... this time you're on the accuser's bench, and I am the judge and the jury... just like you were when you sentenced Angelo Grecco."

This time, all color left the judge's face as he stumbled back and sat down. His fingers trembled as he ran them through his hair.

"What is going on, Henry?" His wife had stopped struggling since she realized that her actions prodded more fear in their children.

"It-It's nothing, Maureen. I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding."

"I'm afraid your husband is lying to you, Mrs. Cobalt. So, this is what we'll do. You and your children will be the jury, along with my men, of course. Once you hear the whole story, I will leave it to you to decide whether your husband is guilty or not." His eyes were as cold as ice. "In the end, your decisions will decide who lives and who dies here tonight."

"I did nothing other than my job," Cobalt interjected. "Grecco was captured on board that plane by the Delta Force team. He was guilty."

"From what I recall of the trial, the defense provided enough evidence to prove that William DuPont forced him to participate. He was as much a victim as the others on that plane... but then, you knew as much, didn't you?"

"The jury found him guilty. It wasn't a closed trial; I couldn't overthrow their decision."

"No? Correct me if I'm wrong, Your Honor, but weren't you informed the evening before the verdict was given that the jury was hung?"

"H-How could you know about that?"

"Ah, well, I've got my resources." Lombardo paced the room in lazy strides with his hands clasped behind his back. "Strange then, isn't it, that the next morning, none of that was mentioned in the courtroom?"

"They must've changed their minds," Cobalt defended himself.

"Come now, Judge. You know that's not true. They were ensconced in their rooms as soon as you received the message of the hung jury. Yet, for some unknown reason, all was in favor of the guilty verdict as the court clerk read it the next day. So was your subsequent sentencing, which was offered the very next day and not as is customary within a six-month period."

"It was an open and shut case. He was guilty!"

"Except, on the day of the verdict, there were only ten jurors and not the twelve who sat through the trial. Care to explain that?"

"I... you... that's not true. They were all present."

"Strange isn't it, Mrs. Cobalt, that a man who is supposed to stand for what's right and legal can lie with such a straight face. I wonder, is that the kind of person you would want in your children's lives? A liar who steals people's lives from them in exchange for a gold-lined purse to give you all these luxuries?" Lombardo snorted as she turned pale. "Or don't you care? Would you rather have the gilded cage and live a lie, or—"

"What are you saying?" young Clyde interjected. "That Dad accepted money to send an innocent man to jail?"

"Not just to any jail, my young friend. To ADX Florence, the worst supermax prison in the world."

"But why?"

"Clyde, stop it! None of this is true!"

"If he was innocent, why would anyone pay to have him locked up?" Clyde asked, ignoring his father.

"Well, that's what we're here to find out." Lombardo turned to Henry. "So, you've been found guilty of the charges I mentioned, and it seems your son concurs. I might consider a lesser sentence if you tell me what I want to know. Who paid you to look the other way, Judge Cobalt?"

"I wasn't—"

Lombardo's nod was barely perceptible, but the man standing by Cobalt's side reacted immediately. The knife pinned the judge's hand to the table. His screams of horror and pain merged with those of his wife and kids.

"For fuck's sake. Please," he wailed as he struggled to breathe through the pain. "Take my family out of here."

"No can do, Your Honor, or did you forget? They're the jury, and I will make sure they are all present until your sentence is delivered." Lombardo stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Again, who gave you the instructions, and who paid you?" He held up his hand as Cobalt opened his mouth. "Fair warning, Judge. I already confirmed the five million dollars that was deposited into your Cayman account the day of Angelo's sentencing, so don't insult my intelligence any further. My patience is rapidly running out." He took a couple of steps closer. "On second thought. Bring his daughter to the table. The next blade is going through her hand."

"No!" The chorus of cries came from the entire Cobalt family.

Lombardo was unmoved as he waited until the teenager was held down opposite her father.

"Do I need to repeat the question, Your Honor?"

"They'll kill me," Cobalt finally gave in as tears spilled over his cheeks.

"You're going to die here tonight anyway, Judge," Lombardo said scornfully. "However, your answer will determine how many of your family you take along with you to hell."

Cobalt's head lowered dejectedly. "The order came from Chief Judge Willows, but the payment was made from an undisclosed source directly into my Cayman's account. I have no idea who else is involved. I assumed it was him who paid me."

"The Chief Judge of the Supreme Court of the United States." Lombardo laughed. "And they say I'm the criminal. It makes you wonder who really runs this country because from where I stand, it sure as hell isn't the legal or Federal system." His eyes hardened. "But now the lines have been drawn, and I will cast my name in the hat as a ruler... even if only from behind closed doors."

Lombardo turned and sauntered to the door. He snapped his fingers. "Finish him and make it quick. We have another judge to visit tonight."

The screams and pleas from the kids and their mother amid the cry of terror when his men slashed Cobalt's throat sounded like a symphony in his ears as he walked out of the house.

"Hang tight, Angelo. You'll be a free man by this time tomorrow."