Chapter 6 - The Trap is Sprung
Twenty-four hours after the ambush on the mountain, the Vale estate looked entirely normal from the outside.
Snow fell gently over the manicured hedges. The stone chimneys puffed gray woodsmoke into the twilight sky. But behind the iron gates, the estate was a coiled viper waiting to strike.
Dominic had instructed his network to black out all communications. To the outside underworld, the rumors were already swirling: Dominic Vale’s convoy had been wiped out on Route 9, and the Falcone family had claimed the northern territories.
Inside the grand conservatory on the second floor, Claire Bennett sat sipping chilled Champagne from a crystal flute.
Her phone buzzed against the marble table. She answered with a triumphant smirk.
“Is it done?” Claire asked.
“Dominic’s car burned to the chassis,” a rough voice rasped over the receiver. “No survivors pulled from the wreckage. Nathan’s trackers confirmed the kill.”
Claire let out a breathless, wicked laugh. “Brilliant. Have Vincent Falcone send his signature team to the front gates. We take the estate deeds tonight, and Nathan assumes the chairmanship of the board tomorrow morning.”
She hung up, stood, and walked to the full-length mirror. She smoothed the skirt of her black designer gown, admiring her reflection. She was twenty-six years old, and within twelve hours, she would control the largest port empire on the East Coast.
She walked out of the conservatory and down the grand marble staircase into the great hall.
The double mahogany doors to the main parlor were closed. Claire pushed them open, expecting to find Nathan waiting with the transfer documents.
Instead, she found the room bathed in shadows.
A single spotlight illuminated the center of the room. Sitting in the high-backed velvet armchair was Dominic Vale.
He wore a bespoke three-piece charcoal suit. His tie was straight, his hair neatly combed back, and his hands were folded calmly over a crystal tumbler of scotch.
Claire froze, the Champagne flute slipping from her fingers. It shattered across the hardwood floor, sparkling wine splashing over her designer shoes.
“You… you were dead,” Claire choked out, the blood draining from her face until she was as white as the snow outside. “The mountain pass… the car burned…”
“A decoy vehicle with remote guidance,” Dominic said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. “I paid three million dollars to a specialist in Berlin to build that rig six months ago. I always knew someone in my inner circle would try to burn me in a motorcade. I just didn't realize it would be the woman who promised to honor and obey me in six weeks.”
Claire backed toward the doors, her chest heaving in absolute panic. “Dominic, listen to me! Nathan forced me! He threatened my father’s business! He said if I didn't help him poison your wine, he would ruin my family!”
“Your father didn't need ruining, Claire,” Dominic replied, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion. “He was already bankrupt. That’s why you came to me in the first place. You needed a billionaire to pay off your father’s gambling debts in Macau. But when you realized I kept my accounts tightly audited, you decided Nathan was an easier pawn to manipulate.”
The heavy curtains behind the armchair parted.
Mia walked forward, holding Harper’s hand. Mia was dressed in an elegant cream wool sweater and dark trousers, looking radiant and healthy, her hand bandaged neatly in white linen. Harper looked at Claire without fear, holding Dominic’s silver pocket knife like a talisman.
Claire’s eyes widened with pure hatred. “You… you dirty little maid. You should have died in that cellar!”
“I survived because a real man listened to his conscience,” Mia said quietly, her chin lifted high with unshakeable dignity. “And because your greed made you sloppy, Claire. You left the offshore bank keycards in your cosmetic bag.”
The side door clicked open. Two federal marshals and four city detectives stepped into the parlor, led by the regional director of the Department of Justice.
“Claire Bennett,” the director announced, holding up a federal warrant. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, corporate embezzlement, and racketeering under the RICO act.”
Claire screamed, clawing at the air as the marshals grabbed her wrists and snapped steel cuffs around her manicured hands. “Dominic, you can’t do this to me! You’ll start a war with the Falcones! You won’t survive the week!”
“The Falcones are already taken care of,” Dominic said coldly. “Marcus raided Vincent Falcone’s compound in Jersey two hours ago while his men were waiting for your signal. The Falcone family no longer exists.”
Claire’s screams faded down the long marble corridor as she was dragged away into the freezing night, stripped of her wealth, her status, and her future.
May you like
Dominic turned his gaze toward the heavy iron door leading down to the private cellars.
“And now,” Dominic murmured, rising from his chair, “for my brother.”
