Chapter 9 - The Trap is Set
The following afternoon, the sun beat down harshly against the corrugated steel roof of Moretti’s abandoned freight warehouse near the Chicago shipping yards.
Inside the cavernous, dusty building, stacked wooden crates cast long, jagged shadows across the concrete floor.
In the center of the room, a single steel table sat beneath an overhead work light. Atop the table rested two heavy leather duffel bags stuffed with banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills—two million dollars in untraceable cash.
Hidden behind a catwalk twenty feet above, Evelyn lay flat on the metal grating, peering down through a pair of high-powered tactical binoculars.
Beside her, Lorenzo adjusted the strap of his rifle, his face set in stone.
“Thomas took the bait,” Lorenzo whispered quietly over the encrypted comms channel in Evelyn’s ear. “He sent an encrypted packet to an offshore relay station registered to a shell company owned by the Vane syndicate twenty minutes ago.”
“And the backup?” Evelyn asked, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“Viktor and four teams have all three access roads sealed off,” Lorenzo replied. “Nobody gets out of here today.”
Below, the heavy industrial rolling doors at the far end of the warehouse groaned open.
Sunlight sliced into the dim interior.
Footsteps echoed across the concrete.
Evelyn adjusted her binoculars, her breath catching in her throat.
Walking through the doorway wasn't a squad of hired hitmen.
It was Thomas—Lorenzo’s trusted executive secretary of twelve years. He was sweating profusely, his expensive silk tie loosened, clutching a leather briefcase to his chest.
And walking right behind him, flanked by two armed thugs with suppressed submachine guns, was Marcus Vane himself—a tall, sharp-featured man with predatory eyes and a wicked grin.
“Well, well, well,” Marcus sneered, looking around the empty warehouse. “Look at all that lovely Moretti cash, just sitting here waiting to be collected.”
Thomas wiped his forehead with a shaking hand. “Just get the money, Marcus. If Lorenzo finds out about this, we’re both dead meat.”
“Relax, Thomas,” Marcus laughed, stepping up to the steel table and unzipping one of the duffel bags. “Moretti is probably still licking his wounds after last night’s little party. The great Moretti dynasty is crumbling, and you and I are going to carve up the remains.”
Up on the catwalk, Evelyn held her breath. She looked sideways at Lorenzo.
May you like
Lorenzo’s face was a mask of absolute, glacial fury. He slowly raised his rifle, sighting down the barrel directly toward Marcus Vane’s chest.
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