Chapter 3 - The Trap is Set
The Velvet Room was packed with its usual high-stakes clientele, but the atmosphere was thick with tension. Rumors of a war between the Moretti family and the police department were circulating like wildfire.
At a corner VIP table, Grant Mercer sat sipping a glass of expensive scotch. He looked triumphant. Beside him sat Detective Draper, looking nervous, his eyes darting toward the entrance.
"You're sure Moretti won't just dump her body in the pine barrens?" Draper muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Luca Moretti has a weakness," Grant sneered, twirling his glass. "He thinks he’s a gentleman. He won't hurt a pregnant woman, especially not one carrying his heir. He’s keeping her safe, which means he’s playing defense. And while he’s playing defense, Petrov is taking his shipping routes."
Suddenly, the music in the lounge died out.
The heavy glass doors of the Velvet Room opened, and a chilling silence swept across the room. Luca Moretti walked in, flanked by four armed men. The crowd parted instantly, patrons sliding into booths to avoid the incoming blast radius.
Grant didn't flinch. He stood up, smoothing his jacket. "Luca. Come to return my property?"
Luca stopped five feet from the table. He didn't look at Grant; his eyes were fixed entirely on Detective Draper. "Carl," Luca said smoothly. "You’ve been on my payroll for seven years. I bought your house. I paid for your daughter’s Ivy League tuition. I expected greed from you, but stupidity? That disappoints me."
Draper stood up, his hand twitching near his holster. "I have a warrant, Moretti. You’re harboring a kidnapped woman."
"Am I?" Luca raised an eyebrow.
From behind the ranks of Luca’s men, Claire stepped forward. She wasn't wearing the bruised, broken expression she had carried for two years. She was dressed in a sleek navy dress, her posture upright, her eyes burning with an icy resolve that mirrored Luca's.
Grant’s face darkened. "Claire. Get over here right now. Stop letting these criminals use you."
Claire didn't move an inch toward him. Instead, she pulled a small digital recorder from her purse and placed it on the table.
"I wasn't kidnapped, Detective Draper," Claire said, her voice echoing clearly in the silent lounge. "I fled for my life. And before you try to return me to my 'husband,' you might want to listen to this."
She pressed play.
“You think that man is coming back for you?... Please, do whatever you want to me. Just don’t hurt my baby... That isn’t my baby...”
Grant’s voice blasted through the speaker, accompanied by the distinct, sickening sound of a leather belt striking flesh and glass shattering.
The patrons gasped. Several people immediately pulled out their phones, recording the confrontation.
Grant’s polished facade cracked. "That's a fabrication! A deepfake!"
"There's more," Claire said, her voice unwavering. "Like the bank records showing the two hundred thousand dollars Viktor Petrov transferred into your account last Tuesday to finance this little media circus. Or the fact that our 'marriage' was never legally filed because the Reverend you hired was a disbarred lawyer named Paul Colton." She looked at Draper. "He’s not my husband, Detective. He’s my captor. And you are his accomplice."
Draper’s face went entirely white. He looked at the surrounding phones recording his every move. He knew his career, and likely his freedom, was over.
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"You think this changes anything?" Grant snarled, stepping forward, his eyes wild with rage. "You’re still in Atlantic City, Claire! You belong to me!"
Before Luca could move, a flash of red light erupted from the street outside. The glass windows of the Velvet Room shattered as a hail of gunfire tore through the lounge.
