Chapter 5 - The Trap at the WarehouseWhile Vincent wept on the floor of the Drake Hotel, a secondary, far more desperate scheme was being hatched inside the private VIP lounge of the Moretti Commercial Warehouse in South Chicago.
Sophia Reynolds sat at a mahogany table, surrounding four high-ranking corporate directors from the Rival Genovese Syndicate.
Sophia’s silver dress was rumpled, her makeup smeared with tears, her voice high-pitched and hysterical as she slammed her glass onto the wood.
"Vincent has lost his mind!" Sophia shrieked frantically. "He’s going to transfer forty percent of the Moretti Logistics shares to that bastard girl Emily! If he does that, my son Lucas gets nothing!"
The leader of the Genovese Syndicate, Don Marco Genovese—a ruthless fifty-year-old mob boss who had been trying to seize Vincent's shipping routes for a decade—offered a dark, razor-sharp smile.
"If Vincent transfers those shares to Claire Bennett, Sophia," Marco Genovese sneered, "he becomes weak. But... if Claire and her daughter disappear before the legal trust is signed on Monday morning... the shares revert to Lucas."
Sophia’s eyes flashed with a dark, unhinged, and poisonous greed. "What do you need me to do?"
"Tell Vincent you want to meet him at the South Side warehouse at two A.M. to sign the formal separation agreement," Genovese instructed flatly. "Tell him to come alone. Once he steps inside... my men will execute him and make it look like a rival hit."
What Sophia didn't realize was that every word spoken inside that VIP lounge was being recorded in high-definition digital audio by Marco—Vincent's chief lieutenant, who had remained loyal to the primary Moretti family line.
At 1:15 AM, my phone in the Drake Hotel suite rang.
It was Marco.
"Mrs. Moretti," Marco's sharp, urgent voice echoed through the speaker. "Sophia has set a death trap for Don Vincent at the South Side warehouse. He knows it's a trap... but he's walking into it anyway because he believes he deserves to die for what he did to you and Emily."
My heart took a sudden, sharp leap against my ribs.
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I didn't love Vincent anymore. But I refused to let my daughter's biological father be murdered by a toxic viper.
"Get the car, Marco," I commanded flatly. "We're going to South Chicago."
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