Chapter 6 - The Trap at DawnThe morning sun broke over the Chestnut Hill carriage house like a slow explosion of pale gold light through the fog.
I woke up wrapped in the warmth of Vincent’s arms, the heavy stone walls keeping the outside world at a safe, distant distance. For the first time in years, the crushing weight of tomorrow felt manageable.
Then, the high-pitched, encrypted satellite chirp of the emergency burner phone sitting on the bedside table shattered the peace.
Vincent’s eyes flew open. In less than a second, all traces of sleep vanished; the apex predator was back online. He snatched the phone off the nightstand, flipped it open, and pressed it to his ear.
“Marlowe,” he barked.
I sat up, pulling the sheet over my shoulders, watching his face drain of color. The harsh, rigid lines of his jaw hardened into stone.
“Where?” Vincent demanded, his voice dropping an octave. “...Understood. I’m on my way.”
He snapped the phone shut and threw it onto the bed.
“What is it?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
“Evan,” Vincent said, standing up immediately and grabbing his trousers off the chair. “He went rogue. After he stormed out of the office yesterday, he reached out to the Marcone syndicate directly. He offered to hand over our secondary shipping manifests in exchange for enough capital to leave the country.”
My breath caught. “He’s selling out his own family?”
“He thinks he’s burning my empire to the ground to punish me,” Vincent said coldly, pulling his shirt on with fierce, jerky movements. “But Marcone didn't want the manifests. They lured him into an abandoned rail yard down by the docks at dawn. They’re holding him hostage—and they’ve set a trap for me.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “You’re not going down there alone. It’s an ambush.”
“Claire, stay here,” Vincent ordered, turning around, pointing a finger at me with absolute authority. “That’s an order.”
“I am your executive operations director, Vincent! I know every shell company, every offshore account, and every leverage point we have over Marcone! If you walk into that rail yard blind without my operational breakdown, you’ll walk right into a crossfire!”
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Vincent stared at me, jaw clenched, weighing the tactical risk against the absolute stubbornness in my eyes.
“Fine,” he growled, grabbing his holster and strapping it across his chest. “Get dressed. We leave in two minutes.”
