Chapter 10 - The Trap is SprungThe morning sun cast long, sharp shadows across the marble floors of the Moretti estate. The sprawling kitchen was dead silent, save for the hum of the espresso machine.
Clara stood by the marble island, feeding Leo a bowl of warm oatmeal. The boy was surprisingly docile, occasionally looking up at her with big, trusting eyes that broke her heart a little more each time.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Vincent walked into the kitchen, looking immaculate in a silver-grey pinstripe suit, though his eyes darted around nervously.
"Morning, little boss," Vincent forced a tight smile at Leo, then turned his attention to Clara. "Clara, right? The boss wants to see you in the underground armory immediately. Said something about inventory."
Clara’s heart skipped a beat. The armory. Deep underground, soundproofed, and completely isolated from the rest of the mansion.
"The boss didn't mention an inventory to me," Clara said calmly, keeping her hands steady as she wiped Leo’s mouth.
"Well, he mentioned it to me," Vincent said, his smile sharpening into something predatory. He slid his hand inside his jacket. "Now, are you going to walk down there, or do I need to carry you?"
Clara stood up slowly, her mind racing. This was it. Vincent was making his move before Rico could expose him.
"Alright," Clara said, leaning down to kiss Leo’s forehead. "Stay here, sweet boy. I'll be right back."
Vincent grabbed her arm roughly, hauling her toward the service elevator that led down to the subterranean levels. The heavy metal doors slid shut, sealing them in darkness as they descended deep beneath the earth.
When the doors opened, the air was damp and smelled of gun oil and concrete. Vincent shoved Clara forward into the vast, dimly lit armory.
"End of the line, waitress," Vincent sneered, drawing his silencer-fitted pistol and leveling it right between her eyes. "You should have stayed in Brooklyn."
"Should I have?" a voice echoed from the shadows behind him—a voice that made Vincent’s blood run cold.
Vincent whipped around, his eyes going wide.
Rico stepped out from behind a rack of assault rifles, his own weapon raised and locked directly on Vincent’s chest. Flanking him were six of the estate's most elite loyal guards, weapons drawn.
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"V-Boss!" Vincent stammered, dropping his gun to his side, his face turning the color of ash. "I can explain—"
"You had your chance to explain last night, Vincent," Rico said, his voice echoing like the judgment of a god. "And now... the family business is concluded."
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