Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the MansionMidnight. Green Mountains, Vermont.
A brutal blizzard raged through the pine forests, blinding visibility and muffling all sound. Snow piled thick against the heavy stone walls of Donti Moretti’s safehouse.
Inside the master bedroom on the second floor, Donti Moretti sat in a silk robe, sipping expensive scotch, watching a flat-screen television. Two armed US Marshals stood guard outside his heavy oak door, while four more patrolled the ground floor.
Suddenly, the lights flickered once—and went pitch black.
“What the hell?” one of the Marshals outside the bedroom muttered, clicking his flashlight on. “Control, this is Post One. We just lost main power. Switching to backup generator.”
Silence came back over the radio. Only static answered.
“Control, do you copy?” the Marshal repeated, reaching for his sidearm.
Before he could unholster his weapon, a silent dart struck him directly in the neck. His eyes rolled back, his knees buckled, and he collapsed silently onto the carpeted floor. The second Marshal turned in shock, but a dark figure stepped out of the shadow, catching him in a sleeper hold, cutting off oxygen to his brain until he went limp.
Inside the bedroom, Moretti stood up, spilling his scotch onto his lap. “Johnson? Davis? What’s going on out there?”
The heavy oak door swung open slowly.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated only by the pale moonlight reflecting off the snow outside, was Belle Ashford.
She wore a long black wool coat, her hands folded calmly in front of her. Behind her stood four masked operatives dressed in blackout tactical gear, holding silenced submachine guns.
Moretti staggered back, his face draining of all color. “Who... who the hell are you?”
“You don't recognize me, Donti?” Belle said, stepping slowly into the room, her high heels making a sharp, deliberate sound against the hardwood floor. “That’s fair. Last time you saw my face, it was on a dossier your hitman brought you before he tried to throw my son off a balcony.”
Moretti’s eyes widened in sheer, utter terror. “You... the maid! The Kavanaugh girl!”
He scrambled backward, reaching frantically for the silver revolver sitting on his nightstand.
Pfft!
A single silenced bullet pierced Moretti’s hand, shattering his fingers. He shrieked in agony, clutching his bloody hand to his chest, falling to his knees on the Persian rug.
Belle walked up to him, stopping just inches away. She didn't look angry. She looked like a judge delivering an inescapable sentence.
“Please!” Moretti begged, tears streaming down his fat, flushed cheeks. “Please, I have money! Millions! In offshore accounts! I’ll give you everything! Just don't kill me!”
“I don't want your money, Donti,” Belle said softly. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a thick, leather-bound document, throwing it onto the floor in front of him.
“What... what is this?” Moretti stammered through his pain.
“That is a full, signed confession detailing how you framed federal prosecutors, bribed state judges, and ordered the assassination of Renick Kavanaugh’s family,” Belle stated clearly. “Including the video evidence and bank transfers that my team retrieved from your personal server in Nassau two hours ago.”
Moretti gasped. “If... if I sign that, I go to prison for life!”
Belle leaned down, her face inches from his, her gray-blue eyes burning with an absolute, terrifying coldness.
“If you sign it, you go to prison,” Belle whispered. “If you don't sign it... I leave you in this room with my men. And they will make sure it takes three days for you to die.”
Moretti looked at the four dark, emotionless mercenaries standing behind her, their guns leveled at his head. He looked at the bloody mess of his hand.
He reached out with his trembling, unbroken left hand, grabbed the pen, and signed his name at the bottom of the document.
Belle picked up the paper, examining the signature with a satisfied nod. She turned her back on him, walking toward the door.
“Wait!” Moretti wept, lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood and tears. “You promised! You said you wouldn't kill me!”
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Belle stopped in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder with a cold, terrifying smile.
“I won't kill you, Donti,” she said softly. “The state of Massachusetts will.”
