Chapter 2 - The Inner CircleThe black armored SUV cut through the torrential rain, hurtling down the private highway toward the heart of Chicago. I sat in the back leather seat, soaked to the bone, staring out the rain-streaked window at the glittering skyline. Dominic sat across from me, casually swirling a glass of amber scotch. His top henchman, a scarred giant named Viktor, drove in absolute, suffocating silence.
"You aren't crying," Dominic observed, breaking the quiet. "Most girls brought to my estate would be weeping, begging for their lives, or calling the police."
"The police in Cook County are on your payroll, and crying doesn't pay my mother's dialysis bill," I replied flatly, turning my head to meet his gaze. "Cut the psychological games, Mr. Moretti. Why didn't you have your brute snap my neck back at the mansion?"
Dominic chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. "Because Vanessa has grown arrogant, and arrogant pets bite their owners. You gave her a reality check she desperately needed. But more importantly, my intelligence reports show that your father wasn't killed in an 'industrial accident' eight years ago. His name was Thomas Carter. He was the chief forensic accountant who managed the offshore accounts for the Moretti family—until he tried to steal fifty million dollars and run."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my face to remain a mask of cold stone. "My father was an honest man who died crushed under a forklift at a warehouse."
"Your father was a clever thief who thought he could outsmart the syndicate," Dominic corrected, leaning forward, the overhead light casting sharp shadows across his chiseled features. "He hid those digital keys somewhere, Avery. And for eight years, my enemies have been hunting for them. I suspect he didn't give them to your mother. I suspect he gave them to his daughter."
"I deliver food, Mr. Moretti. I don't know anything about fifty million dollars."
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"Prove it," Dominic said softly, sliding a thick manila folder across the leather console. "Starting tomorrow morning, you move into the penthouse suite of the Moretti Tower. You will work as my executive assistant. If you're lying, Viktor will drop your mother from the third-floor Cicero apartment into the alleyway. If you're telling the truth, I will pay for the best private oncologists and kidney specialists in the world to keep Linda Carter alive."
I looked down at the folder, then out the window at the flashing neon lights of the city. The trap had snapped shut, but as I clenched my fists inside my jacket pockets, I realized something Dominic Moretti didn't know: I hadn't been trapped by a monster. I had just infiltrated the cage.
