Chapter 6 - The Trap Set for the Mob Boss
By midnight, the storm over the Atlantic reached its peak.
Inside the subterranean tactical room beneath the Newport manor, Rafe laid out three maps of the Grand Hotel in Providence.
“Enzo has secured the grand ballroom on the top floor,” Rafe explained, pointing to the structural blueprints. “He’s brought forty armed men from the docks. The syndicate bosses from Boston, New York, and Philadelphia are already inside. Victoria is preparing to read a forged will naming Enzo as trustee of the Ferrara estate.”
“They think they’ve won,” Emily said, studying the layout of the hotel’s security grid. “They’re using my father’s name to validate the lie—claiming I took revenge for Daniel Taylor.”
Santino sat at the head of the steel table, a dark coat draped over his shoulders, his jaw set like iron. “Enzo’s mistake was relying on a body he hadn't seen. He assumes my corpse is sitting at the bottom of the bay.”
“Boss, we only have seven loyal men available on short notice,” Rafe warned. “If we walk into that ballroom through the front doors, it’s a bloodbath.”
“We’re not walking through the front doors, Rafe,” Santino said coldly. He turned his gaze to Emily. “Tell him about the Grand Hotel, Emily.”
Emily stepped toward the blueprint, pointing to a service shaft running along the building’s north spine. “Three years ago, when I was working for a corporate catering company, we used the high-speed freight elevator connected to the basement wine cellars. It bypasses the primary ballroom security checkpoints entirely.”
Rafe looked from the blueprint to Emily, a slow, approving grin breaking across his scarred face. “The wine cellar access. It leads directly behind the main stage curtain.”
“Precisely,” Santino said. He reached down into his desk drawer, pulling out a small velvet box and setting it in front of Emily.
Emily looked at the box, then at Santino. “What is this?”
“Open it.”
She lifted the lid. Resting on black silk was a stunning diamond brooch shaped like a crest—the official seal of the Ferrara family head.
“If you walk into that room beside me tonight, Emily, Enzo will try to kill you,” Santino said, his voice dropping into a solemn, heavy tone. “You can take a car now, head south to New York, and disappear with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life. I will clear your father’s name myself.”
Emily looked down at the glittering crest, then reached out, taking it from the box and pinning it firmly to the lapel of her coat.
“My father died because he ran away from men like Enzo Baron,” Emily said, her brown eyes blazing with absolute resolution. “I’m not running anymore. I’m going with you.”
May you like
Santino looked at her, his heart swelling with an emotion he had never permitted himself to feel in thirty-four years of a dangerous, violent life.
He reached out, cupping her cheek, his touch possessive and tender. “Then tonight, we take back our house.”
