Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Gallery
Three days later, Santiago proposed a calculated risk. To draw Salgado out into the open, the Vitale family hosted a high-profile charity art gala at their downtown gallery in Juarez. The event was plastered across social media and society columns—a glittering display of wealth and power designed to lure the opposition into making a rash move.
I was dressed in a stunning emerald-green gown chosen by Elena, my hair swept back in an elegant knot. Standing beside Santiago under the glittering chandeliers, I felt like an impostor playing a high-stakes role in a play I never auditioned for.
“Smile,” Santiago murmured near my ear, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. “Salgado’s chief enforcer is standing by the east gallery archway. He’s watching our every move.”
I forced a tight smile, sipping champagne as wealthy patrons mingled around us. But my heart was pounding a frantic rhythm.
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, keeping my lips moving minimally. “You could crush Salgado quietly. Why put me in the crosshairs?”
“Because,” Santiago replied, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that burned right through me, “my world is dark, Lucía. And from the moment I saw you kneeling in the dirt comforting my terrified son... you brought light into it. I am not letting you go back to the shadows.”
Suddenly, the gallery lights flickered and died.
Emergency red backup lights flooded the room, casting an eerie crimson glow over the terrified guests. Screams erupted as the heavy glass front doors shattered inward.
Men in tactical gear, faces masked in black balaclavas, swarmed into the gallery. At the front of the pack walked a tall, scarred man holding a suppressed automatic rifle—Héctor Salgado.
“Santiago Vitale!” Salgado roared over the chaos, his voice echoing off the marble floors. “Party’s over! Hand over the girl and the ledger, and maybe your son gets to grow up to be a boss!”
Marco and three other Vitale bodyguards drew their weapons instantly, forming a protective wall around us. But Salgado’s men had us outgunned and surrounded from the mezzanine above.
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“You’re out of your depth, Héctor,” Santiago shouted back, his voice remarkably steady as he smoothly pulled a polished Beretta from his shoulder holster, shielding me with his own body.
“Am I?” Salgado grinned maliciously, raising his weapon straight toward my chest. “Let’s test that theory!”
