Chapter 5 - The Trap at Dawn
The sky over Chicago was the color of wet cement when the security alerts began flashing on the multi-monitor display in the estate’s ground-floor command center.
Adrian stood before the wall of screens, his arms crossed over his chest, watching feeds from the private docks and perimeter gates. Beside him stood Marcus, his security chief, holding a tactical tablet.
“They’re moving in, Boss,” Marcus reported, tapping the screen. “Four unmarked vans, roughly twenty men. They bypassed the outer perimeter sensors on the north road—just like we anticipated.”
“Because Elena gave them the security pass codes,” Adrian stated flatly. He didn't sound angry; he sounded like a judge reading a death sentence. “Where is she now?”
“Locked in the east wing holding cell down the hall,” Marcus replied. “She confessed the moment we showed her the wire transfer records from Vance Capital hitting her Swiss bank account.”
Adrian turned away from the monitors and walked down the secure hallway toward the basement holding level.
In a stark, windowless concrete room illuminated by harsh overhead fluorescent lights, Elena Cruz sat handcuffed to a steel chair. Her hair was messy, her designer blouse wrinkled, and her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
When the heavy steel door swung open and Adrian stepped into the room, Elena flinched as if she had been struck.
“Adrian...” she choked out, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I had no choice. Marcus... he threatened my brother. He had him cornered with a multi-million-dollar gambling debt in Macau. If I didn't give him your schedule, and your wife’s medical location…”
“You sold your boss, your home, and an unborn child to save your brother,” Adrian interrupted. His voice carried a chilling, flat finality. “You’ve worked for me for eight years, Elena. You knew what kind of man I am. You knew that if you had simply come to me, I would have paid your brother’s debt twice over.”
Elena burst into tears, slumping forward against the table. “I was afraid... I was so afraid of Marcus—”
“Fear isn't an excuse for treason,” Adrian said coldly. He turned to Marcus. “Put her on a private freighter heading to South America tonight. Strip her of every asset, every account, and every dollar. If she ever sets foot in North America again, throw her in the river.”
“Understood, Boss,” Marcus said, pulling her up by her arms and hauling her out of the room.
As Adrian walked back upstairs toward the east wing, his phone buzzed violently in his pocket. He pulled it out. It was an encrypted text from an unknown number—or rather, a very familiar number.
Marcus Vance: “You think locking down your mansion saves you, Moretti? Your little clinic girlfriend is carrying a ticking time bomb. And by noon today, your entire shipping empire goes up in flames. Come meet me at the old slaughterhouse on 22nd Street if you want to see how this ends.”
Adrian stared at the screen for three seconds. Then a slow, dangerous smile curved across his lips.
May you like
He didn't reply to the text. Instead, he dialed his tactical strike team leader.
“Move in on the slaughterhouse,” Adrian ordered quietly. “Leave no one standing.”
