Chapter 7 - The Trap in the Port
The sun had fully risen, casting sharp beams of light across the blood-stained grass near the greenhouse, but inside the mansion, the tension was suffocating.
Dominic stood in his private study, laying out a series of high-resolution satellite maps of the New York harbor across his mahogany desk. Encircled in red marker were the primary shipping docks in Queens—the very territory controlled by Viktor Petrov, the ruthless patriarch of the Brighton Beach syndicate.
“Petrov thinks I’m vulnerable,” Dominic said, tracing a finger along the map boundary. “He thinks that by almost killing my son, he has thrown me off balance. He expects me to retaliate blindly with a full-scale turf war in the streets.”
“And you’re not going to?” I asked, standing near the doorway with Lily resting quietly in my arms.
Dominic looked up, a sharp, cunning smile touching his lips. “No. A blind retaliation is exactly what he wants. It gives the federal agents an excuse to raid both our operations. Instead, we’re going to give him a false victory.”
“What does that mean for us?” I asked, my voice tight. “If Petrov realizes Thomas failed and was captured, won’t he send someone else? Won’t he come here?”
“He won’t send anyone here because he’s going to be waiting for me at Pier 44 tonight,” Dominic replied smoothly. “Thomas gave us the encryption key to his burner phone before Vincenzo finished with him. We’re going to send Petrov a message: The boy is dead. The Moretti empire is broken. Come claim the docks.”
My breath hitched. “You’re walking right into a trap?”
“No, Clara,” Dominic said, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of us. He reached out, gently cupping Lily’s tiny cheek with his thumb. The little girl blinked sleepily, completely unaware of the deadly game being played around her. “I am setting a trap of my own. And to make it convincing, I need you and Lily to leave the estate for twenty-four hours.”
I stiffened, pulling back slightly. “Leave? Where?”
“To my safehouse in the Adirondacks,” Dominic said. “Vincenzo will drive you personally. Once you’re safe, nobody—not Petrov, not the FBI, not even my own men—will know where you are.”
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“And you?” I asked, hearing the dangerous finality in his voice.
“I have a score to settle in the city,” Dominic said quietly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “And when I come back, this war will be over permanently.”
