Chapter 3 - The Trap is Sprung
For the next three weeks, Adelaide Callahan lived two lives.
By day, she was still the heavy-set waitress at Gina’s All-Day Breakfast, pouring coffee for tired cops and smiling through her blisters. But by night, a private car picked her up from the alley behind the kitchen and whisked her away to the Rosetti fortress.
The staff at the mansion didn't know what to make of her. The housekeepers gave her side-glances; the armed guards stood a little straighter when she walked past. She didn't wear silk or diamonds. She wore her faded sweatpants and an oversized flannel shirt, sitting on the floor of Maxim’s pristine library with printouts spread around her like a paper moat.
Maxim spent those nights watching her. He would return from high-stakes meetings with politicians or dock union bosses, his face tight with anger, only to find Bee eating a sleeve of saltine crackers while circling discrepancies in red ink.
"You're staring, Rosetti," she said one night without looking up from a shipping manifest from Pier 14.
"I’ve spent millions on forensic accountants from Wall Street," Maxim said, leaning against the doorframe with a fresh glass of water for her. "They told me my books were clean."
"Your Wall Street boys know how to hide money from the IRS, not from a woman who knows what a gallon of milk actually costs," Bee said, tossing a red marker onto the pile. "Look at this. Pier 14. Your logistics company logged three shipments of 'industrial machine parts' from Palermo. The weight listed for the containers is twelve tons each. But the fuel consumption logs for the transport trucks show they were pulling less than six tons."
Maxim’s eyes darkened. He walked over, kneeling beside her on the Persian rug to look at the document. "They’re running empty containers. Why?"
"They aren't empty," Bee said, her breath catching slightly as his shoulder brushed against hers. He was close enough that she could see the faint silver threads in his dark hair. "They're running high-grade pharmaceutical precursors inside the hollow frames of the containers. The weight discrepancy is hidden because someone is manual-editing the port scale logs. And look at the signature on the authorization override."
Maxim looked at the tiny, neat initials at the bottom of the page. V.M.
Vincent Moretti. The underboss of the rival family.
But the override had been generated from an IP address inside this very room.
Before Maxim could speak, the heavy oak doors of the library slammed open.
Leo, the bald bodyguard, stumbled into the room, his white shirt stained crimson at the shoulder. "Boss... we’ve got a breach. The gate sensors just went down. It's an inside job. The security grid was deactivated from the main server room downstairs."
The lights inside the mansion suddenly died, plunging the library into pitch darkness. The only illumination came from the pale blue glow of Bee’s digital tablet and the sudden, rhythmic flashing of red emergency lights in the hallway.
A heavy, stuttering roar echoed from the courtyard outside. Automatic gunfire.
"They aren't waiting for the council vote," Maxim growled, his voice instantly shifting into the cold, ruthless register of a warlord. He reached beneath his desk, pulling out a heavy black pistol and racking the slide with a crisp clack. "Leo, get the basement tunnel open. We move now."
"Can't, boss," Leo choked out, leaning heavily against the bookcase. "They blocked the service elevator. They're already in the house."
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside—tactical boots moving with speed and precision.
Maxim looked at Bee. For the first time since she had met him, she saw a flicker of something resembling fear in his dark eyes. Not for himself, but for the woman who had gotten caught in his crossfire.
"Adelaide," he whispered, grabbing her by the jacket sleeve. "Get behind the steel safe behind the bookshelf. Don't make a sound."
"Like hell I will," Bee snapped. She didn't panic. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but her mind was completely clear. She looked at the flashing red light, then at the heavy brass fireplace poker resting near the hearth.
May you like
She stood up, her massive frame filling the space between Maxim and the door. She gripped the heavy iron rod with both hands, her thick knuckles turning white.
"You told me I broke their rhythm four nights ago, Rosetti," Bee said, a ferocious, protective grin spreading across her face. "Let's see how they handle a waitress who’s tired of being underestimated."
