Chapter 7 - THE TRAP SPRINGS
Dawn broke over the estate with a deceptive, pale calm.
Emily woke in Dante’s massive bed, wrapped in silk sheets, the scent of him lingering on the pillow. For the first time in three years, the crushing weight of debt and terror had lifted from her chest. Salvatore Gallo was dead. The debt was erased. She was safe.
She slid out of bed, pulling on a warm robe, and walked down the grand mahogany staircase toward the study.
The heavy oak doors were cracked open. Inside, Dante was pacing behind his desk, his voice a lethal hiss that sent a chill running straight down Emily’s spine.
"What do you mean she's gone?" Dante roared.
Emily froze on the landing.
Cassian was standing with his head bowed, his face pale as paper. "The safehouse on 72nd was breached twenty minutes ago, Boss. Russo's men used smoke grenades and military-grade EMPs to knock out the cameras. They bypassed our guards through the old subway utility tunnel."
"And the sister?" Dante demanded, his fists slamming onto the mahogany desk with enough force to crack the wood.
"They took her, Boss. Russo left a burner phone on the kitchen counter."
Emily felt the world drop out beneath her feet.
"Lily..." she gasped, stumbling into the room, her hands flying to her mouth. "No. No, no, no!"
Dante whipped around, his expression shifting from blind rage to agonizing regret the moment he saw Emily’s stricken face.
"Emily—"
"You said she was safe!" Emily cried, tears blinding her as she lunged toward the desk. "You swore to me! You told me she was protected!"
Dante crossed the room in two strides, catching her trembling shoulders before she could fall. "Emily, look at me! Look at me!"
"They have Lily!" she sobbed against his chest, beating her fists against his solid chest. "Russo has her! He’s going to kill her because of me! Because I helped you!"
"Listen to me!" Dante commanded, his voice trembling with an emotion she had never heard from him before: desperation. "Russo didn't take her because of the gala. He took her because of your father."
Emily stopped struggling, looking up at him through her tears. "What are you talking about?"
Dante signaled Cassian, who stepped forward and handed Dante a thick file from the desk.
"Your father wasn't just a degenerate gambler, Emily," Dante explained, his eyes burning with furious clarity. "Arthur Foster was the chief accountant for Russo’s shipping empire for fifteen years. Three months before he 'died,' he stole the ledger containing every port authority bribe, every drug route, and every shell company Russo owned. Your father hid it."
Emily stared at him, stunned. "My father... hid a ledger?"
"Russo didn't terrorize you for three thousand dollars of gambling debt," Dante said. "He sent Gallo to keep you desperate, hoping you or Lily would lead them to where Arthur hid the ledger before he died. When you walked into my penthouse, Russo realized the ledger might fall into my hands."
At that moment, the burner phone on Dante’s desk began to vibrate with a harsh, buzzing drone.
Dante reached over, tapped the speakerphone button, and answered.
"Russo," Dante said coldly.
A low, mocking laugh crackled through the speaker. "Good morning, Don Moretti. I trust your lovely fiancée slept well? Such a pity her little sister didn't get much rest. Washington Square dorms are so drafty."
Emily choked back a scream, but Dante’s hand squeezed her shoulder tightly, warning her to stay silent.
"Name your terms, Lucian," Dante said, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth. "And pray you choose your next words carefully."
"Terminal 4 at the Brooklyn Navy Yard," Russo said smoothly. "Bring Arthur Foster’s ledger by noon. If I see a single Moretti soldier within five miles of the docks, I will slit Lily Foster’s throat on a live stream for her sister to watch. And Dante? Bring the girl. She knows where the key is."
The line went dead.
Emily looked at Dante, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Dante... I don't have the ledger. I don't know where my father hid it! I swear to God, I have no idea!"
Dante looked down at her, his eyes darkening into pitch-black voids of absolute, merciless wrath.
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"It doesn't matter, Emily," Dante said softly, reaching down to unholster a custom combat blade from his boot. "Because Lucian Russo isn't getting a ledger. He's getting a war."
***
