Chapter 4 - The Rat in the Trap
"Gone?" I stood up so fast my desk chair slammed against the wainscoting. "The room is on the second floor, with a sheer drop to the stone terrace. Unless she sprouted wings, she didn't climb out."
"She didn't climb out," Marcus replied, his jaw tight with anger at his own oversight. "She had inside help. One of the new kitchen staff—hired through the agency two months ago—had a master key card. They disabled the hallway security camera for a ninety-second window while the guard was doing his routine perimeter check."
"And Matteo?" I demanded.
"Still locked in the wine cellar. He's screaming his head off, demanding a lawyer, but he didn't escape." Marcus pulled a small, sleek electronic device from his tactical vest. "We found this dropped by the window in the guest suite. It’s an encrypted satellite burner phone. The last outgoing call was made three minutes before we discovered she was gone."
He handed the device to me.
I looked at the screen. The number dialed was not local. It was an international secure line routing through a server in Zurich—the exact same banking routing number associated with Vanguard Holdings.
"She didn't run away," I said, a cold, heavy realization settling over my bones. "She’s not hiding. She’s calling in reinforcements."
Dr. Thorne walked over, peering at the screen over my shoulder. "If she connects with Vanguard’s legal strike team before morning, they’ll file an emergency injunction freezing all of your domestic assets under the pretense of 'domestic instability and mental incapacity.' They'll try to strip you of your corporate voting rights while you're distracted by the kidnapping investigation."
"They can try," I said, my voice dangerously soft. I walked over to the bassinet, where baby Leo was stirring, letting out a tiny, sleepy yawn. I reached down and stroked his soft cheek with my thumb. "Marcus, how many of our loyal men from the old security detail are currently stationed on the estate?"
"Fourteen, armed and combat-ready," Marcus answered instantly.
"Good. Double the guard around the nursery. No one—not the cooks, not the lawyers, not even the local police if they show up without a federal warrant signed by a judge I personally approve—gets within fifty feet of this room."
I turned back to the desk, picking up the old leather ledger and sliding it into my breast pocket.
"Aris, stay here with Leo and Marcus. Keep running those medical analyses and back up every digital file onto the encrypted drive. I'm going down to the wine cellar."
"The wine cellar?" Aris raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do with Matteo? He's a dead end."
"He’s not a dead end," I said, grabbing my heavy wool overcoat from the rack by the door. "He’s the weakest link in their chain. Valentina thinks she can abandon him and run to Zurich with her handlers. Let's see how fast Matteo sings when he realizes his precious sister-in-law threw him under the bus without a second thought."
The descent into the old stone wine cellar was like stepping back into another century.
The air was damp, smelling of ancient oak casks, moldering corks, and decades-old vintage wine. The only illumination came from a single flickering overhead bulb that cast long, grotesque shadows across the stone walls.
Matteo was sitting on a wooden crate in the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest, shivering in his fine Italian suit. The arrogant, composed corporate predator of the dining room had vanished, replaced by a terrified, sweating wreck of a man.
When the heavy iron door creaked open, Matteo flinched violently, shielding his eyes from the light.
"Dante?" he whimpered, scrambling backward until his spine hit the stone wall. "Dante, listen to me, I was forced! Valentina threatened me! She said if I didn't help them stage the hospital transfer, they would release the audit files on my offshore accounts and ruin me!"
I walked slowly down the stone steps, my heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. I didn't say a word. I stopped three feet from him, pulled a folding chair from the corner, sat down backward with my arms resting on the backrest, and stared at him.
"You're a coward, Matteo," I said quietly.
"I'm your brother!" he cried out, his voice cracking. "Dante, we share blood! You can't leave me down here with these thugs!"
"My cousin Elena shared our blood, too," I replied, my voice like ice. "Mother had her murdered in a sterile hospital room because she was an inconvenience to the family brand. And you helped cover it up. You helped them build the very machine that tried to steal my son."
Matteo swallowed hard, trembling. "I... I didn't know about Elena! That was Mother's doing! I swear to God!"
"Really?" I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the encrypted burner phone Valentina had left behind, and tossed it onto the stone floor between his feet. "Then why did Valentina make sure your name was the primary signatory on the offshore shell company that funded the St. Helena maternity ward slush fund?"
Matteo stared at the phone as if it were a live grenade.
"She... she used me," he whispered, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. "She told me we were just protecting the company's stock value. She said once you were broken by the grief of losing the baby, we could restructure the board legally and you wouldn't even notice..."
"And where is she going now, Matteo?"
He looked up, blinking through his tears. "What?"
"Valentina escaped ten minutes ago," I said calmly. "She left you behind in this damp cellar without a second thought. To her, you were never a partner. You were a disposable asset—a useful idiot to take the fall when the house of cards collapsed."
Matteo’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The betrayal registered on his face with absolute clarity. He had sold his soul, betrayed his family, and risked everything for a woman who viewed him as nothing more than a stepping stone.
"She's heading for the private airstrip at the north ridge, isn't she?" I asked softly. "That's where Vanguard’s corporate jet is parked, waiting to fly her out of the country."
Matteo’s silence was all the confirmation I needed.
He slowly lowered his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking with ragged, defeated sobs.
"Go," he whispered into his palms. "Go stop her, Dante. She has the original trust deeds in her briefcase... the ones that sign over the entire estate to Vanguard Holdings. If she reaches international airspace, you'll never touch her."
I stood up from the chair, looking down at my pathetic younger brother with a mixture of pity and absolute disgust.
"Marcus," I called out toward the open iron door.
Marcus stepped out of the shadows of the hallway. "Boss?"
"Get the tactical vehicles warmed up. We're going to the north ridge airstrip."
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I turned back to Matteo one last time.
"You'll stay right here in this cellar until I get back," I said. "When I return, we'll have a long conversation about federal prison sentences. Pray I come back in a good mood."
