Chapter 6 - THE BAIT IS SETBy midnight, the city of Hanoi was draped in a heavy, humid mist that rolled off the Red River, wrapping the abandoned industrial dockyards in an eerie, cinematic silence.
The old shipping warehouses stood like rusted skeletons against the neon-lit backdrop of the distant skyline.
Parked three hundred meters away inside a modified Moretti command van, Kael stared across multiple holographic monitors displaying thermal imaging, drone feeds, and encrypted radio intercepts.
"All units in position," Kael whispered into his tactical mic. "Perimeter secure. Sniper nests active on warehouse rooftops four and six. No movement yet from the Syndicate."
In the driver’s seat sat Vincent. He wore a dark wool coat, his face illuminated only by the faint blue glow of the command dashboard. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, but his focus was razor-sharp.
"They're coming," Vincent said quietly. "They want the encryption keys too badly to let this opportunity slip."
"Are you sure about this plan, sir?" Kael asked, glancing sideways at Vincent with unconcealed concern. "Using an advanced holographic decoy of Audrey inside the warehouse... if they realize it's a trap too early, they might detonate the entire block."
"They won't realize it until it's too late," Vincent replied coldly. "They are arrogant. They believe they hold all the cards because they operated in the shadows for decades. They don't understand that when you threaten a parent’s child, rules no longer exist."
Inside the dilapidated central warehouse, beneath a solitary swinging overhead light bulb, stood a realistic, life-sized holographic projection of Audrey, programmed to mimic her breathing patterns, subtle movements, and even heartbeat rhythms picked up by remote sensors.
To anyone watching from the shadows, it looked like the real Audrey Moretti—vulnerable, pale, and waiting to be rescued.
CRACK.
A faint sound echoed from the catwalk above the warehouse floor.
Kael’s voice crackled instantly through Vincent’s earpiece. "Sir! Movement on the upper east catwalk. Three heat signatures. Silent insertion. They aren't local thugs—they're moving like tier-one black-ops specialists."
Vincent’s eyes locked onto the live infrared monitor. "Hold your fire. Let them descend to the floor. I want them inside the kill box before we close the trap."
On the feed, three figures dressed head-to-toe in matte-black tactical gear dropped silently from the rafters, landing softly on the concrete floor just twenty feet away from the holographic decoy.
The lead operative stepped forward, raising a specialized digital scanner toward the projection.
"Target acquired," the operative spoke into his comms unit, his voice distorted by a tactical modulator. "The girl is secure. Preparing extraction drone."
"Not so fast," a deep, resonant voice echoed through the cavernous warehouse.
The heavy steel sliding doors at the main entrance of the warehouse slowly ground open, flooding the interior with blinding white floodlight beams from three Moretti tactical trucks parked outside.
The three black-ops intruders spun around instantly, raising their assault rifles—only to freeze as laser sights from twenty sniper rifles locked onto their chests simultaneously.
Stepping out of the blinding light and into the center of the warehouse was Vincent Moretti.
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His coat billowed slightly in the damp river breeze. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying vengeance.
"Welcome to my trap," Vincent said softly.
