Chapter 3 - The Traitor's Trap
By midnight, the Lake Forest estate was under a level of security usually reserved for wartime heads of state. Heavy steel blast shutters had descended over the lower floor glass, sixty heavily armed guards patrolled the perimeter grounds, and the estate’s private encrypted communications array was locked down completely.
I sat on the edge of the plush king-sized bed in the third-floor master guest suite, watching Ellie and Isabella sleep.
It was a sight that brought a lump to my throat. Isabella, who hadn't slept more than two consecutive hours in eleven months without night terrors, was curled up on the right side of the bed. Ellie was sleeping right beside her, her small arm thrown over Isabella’s shoulder, Barnaby the rabbit tucked securely between them.
The heavy oak door of the suite opened with a faint click.
Vincent walked in. He had changed out of his tailored suit into a dark charcoal wool sweater and dark trousers. His hair was slightly damp, as if he had just scrubbed his face, but his eyes were sharp, dark, and weary. The faint scent of leather, cedar, and gunpowder clung to him.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, staring down at his daughter. He stood there for a long time, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.
"She ate half a sandwich before falling asleep," I whispered softly, standing up from the bed and smoothing my apron. "She spoke to Ellie. She told her about her favorite drawing books."
Vincent closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Eleven months, Clara. Eleven months I watched her fade away. I bought doctors from London, specialists from Johns Hopkins, threw millions at research... and the snake was sitting at my dining table every Sunday."
"You couldn't have known, Mr. Moretti," I said gently. "Dominic was your wife's lawyer too. He covered his tracks."
"I should have known," Vincent snapped softly, his jaw clenching. "A leader who cannot protect his own house has no right to lead."
He looked at me, his gaze shifting from the sleeping girls to my face. For the first time in five years, I realized how strikingly handsome he was beneath the cold, terrifying facade he presented to the world. His jawline was sharp, carved like granite, but there was a profound, quiet warmth hidden in the depths of his grey eyes.
"Did Dominic confess?" I asked quietly.
Vincent’s expression darkened. "Marco pulled everything out of him. Sofia was right. Dominic was funneling our legitimate logistics operations into the hands of Salvatore Romano. Salvatore wanted to crush the Moretti family from within without starting an open turf war in Chicago. When Sofia stumbled onto the paper trail at her art gallery, Dominic panicked. He cut the brake lines on her Mercedes while she was inside a charity luncheon."
My blood ran cold. "It wasn't an accident."
"No," Vincent said, his voice dropping into an icy whisper. "It was murder. And Isabella was in the backseat. She survived the crash because Sofia threw her body across the center console to shield her. When the paramedics arrived, Dominic was the first on the scene. He pulled Isabella out of the wreck... and whispered that threat into her ear while she was still covered in her mother's blood."
Tears pricked my eyes. I looked back at seven-year-old Isabella, my heart aching with a fierce, protective maternal instinct. "How could anyone be so cruel to a child?"
"Greed makes monsters out of men, Clara," Vincent said. He walked over to the armchair near the window and sat down, leaning his head back against the leather. "Dominic thought if he kept Isabella mute and kept me blinded by grief, he could slowly siphon off the remaining forty percent of our corporate shares over the next year. He didn't account for a four-year-old girl in old red shoes noticing what six world-class psychiatrists missed."
He turned his head to look at me, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. "Ellie is extraordinary."
"She’s just observant," I said, feeling a warmth rise in my cheeks. "She doesn't miss much. When her father left us three years ago, she used to sit by the window for hours watching the street. She learned to read people's eyes before she learned her alphabet."
Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Her father left you?"
I nodded, looking down at my worn hands. "The moment I got pregnant. He didn't want the responsibility of a family. I’ve worked as a housekeeper ever since to keep a roof over her head."
Vincent was silent for a moment. Then he stood up, stepping close to me. The sheer size of him was intimidating, but I didn't feel afraid. I felt an overwhelming sense of safety that I hadn't felt in years.
"You will never have to worry about a roof over her head again, Clara," Vincent said, his voice deep and absolute. "Starting tomorrow, you are no longer the housekeeper of this estate. My legal team is drawing up a contract. You will be appointed as the primary guardian and personal administrator for Isabella’s household, with a full salary, private security, and permanent residence here."
"Mr. Moretti, that’s... that’s too much—"
"It isn't enough," Vincent interrupted firm. "You gave me my daughter back tonight. Money is just paper to me. But family..." He looked toward the bed. "Family is everything. And whether you realize it or not, Clara, you and Ellie stepped into the line of fire for my blood tonight. Salvatore Romano will soon realize Dominic has failed. When he finds out why, he will come for this house."
Before I could answer, the radio on Vincent’s belt crackled to life with high-pitched static.
"Boss!" Marco’s voice boomed through the speaker, urgent and tense. "We’ve got a situation at the main gate! Three perimeter sensors just went dark on the north ridge! Armed vehicles approaching fast!"
Vincent didn't panic. He pulled a sleek black tactical radio from his pocket and pressed the transmitter.
"Lock down Phase Three," Vincent commanded coldly. "Engage perimeter defenses. Nobody leaves this estate alive."
He looked at me, grabbing my shoulders with warm, powerful hands. "Take the girls into the reinforced safe room behind the wardrobe. Do not open the door for anyone except me or Marco. Do you understand?"
May you like
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat and looked him dead in the eye. "I understand. Be careful, Vincent."
He froze for a fraction of a second at the sound of his first name on my lips, a flash of heat igniting in his grey eyes, before he nodded sharply, pulled a dark customized pistol from his shoulder holster, and sprinted out into the dark hallway.
