Chapter 7 - The Trap is Set
The sun rose over Westchester, casting a deceptive, golden glow across the manicured lawns of the Moretti estate. To the outside world, it was just another quiet Sunday morning in an ultra-wealthy neighborhood. No police sirens, no flashing lights. Just the hum of lawn sprinklers and the distant cry of gulls from the Hudson River.
Inside the master suite, Lily was eating pancakes prepared by Dominic’s personal chef, chattering happily about wanting to feed the koi fish in the courtyard fountain. She had no memory of the terror in the hallway or the shadow in the pantry. To her, Dominic was simply the nice giant who gave her a safe place to sleep.
“She eats without fear,” Dominic observed, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen alcove, watching Lily through the glass. He wore a sharp charcoal suit, every trace of last night’s chaos erased by an immaculate shave and cold, calculated composure.
“Children are resilient when they’re protected,” I replied, wiping syrup from the counter. “Unlike the adults in this house.”
“The trap is ready,” Dominic said, stepping into the room. “Dante intercepted a digital ping from the dead assassin’s encrypted burner phone. A secure transmission was sent to an address in Manhattan twenty minutes ago: ‘Package delivered. Target isolated.’”
“They think Ethan is dead or incapacitated,” I realized.
“Exactly,” Dominic nodded. “Which means the head of the New York branch of the Silverio syndicate—Vincent Silverio himself—is going to step out of the shadows today to claim the territory. He’s hosting an emergency summit at his private waterfront estate in Queens at noon, expecting my captains to be in total disarray.”
“And you’re going.”
“We are going,” Dominic corrected, looking straight at me. “Vincent requested that my head housekeeper accompany my inner circle to handle the estate arrangements for the ‘mourning period.’ He wants to humiliate me by parading my staff in front of his council.”
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I stared at him, the weight of the proposal settling over my shoulders. “You want me to walk into the lion’s den with you?”
“You have your father’s analytical mind, Clara. And you have a face they don't recognize as a tactical threat,” Dominic said, walking closer. “Besides, nobody else in this house has the stomach to look Vincent Silverio in the eye and smile while holding a knife.”
