Chapter 6 - The Trap Sprung
"She's lying!" Victor snapped, his calm demeanor shattering into visible desperation. "The girl is a confused nobody from Queens! She knows nothing!"
"Does she?" Dante asked smoothly. He pulled a small portable laser scanner from his tuxedo pocket and aimed the violet beam at the back of the envelope in my hand.
Instantly, a projection screen mounted on the ballroom wall—meant for the charity auction—flickered to life. The scanner transmitted the hidden watermarked data directly to the hotel's secure network.
A massive ledger began scrolling across the screen in bright green text.
Thousands of transactions. Off-shore bank accounts in Switzerland, Panama, and the Cayman Islands. But most importantly, it listed the private skimming accounts Victor Belandi had created to siphon fifteen percent of all drug and weapons profits away from the other four Chicago syndicates over the last five years.
Over forty million dollars stolen directly from his own allies.
The room exploded into furious shouts.
"You snake!" the West Side boss roared, pulling a concealed firearm from his jacket. "You've been robbing us!"
"Wait! It's a setup!" Victor screamed, backing toward his bodyguards. "Moretti forged those records!"
"The cryptographic signature is verified by Belandi Imports' master server, Victor," Dante said, stepping in front of me shielding my body completely. "Your own digital footprint signed those transfers."
Victor looked around the room. He saw the cold, bloodthirsty eyes of every crime boss in Chicago locking onto him. He knew he was dead.
In a fit of blind rage, Victor pulled a chrome revolver from his coat and pointed it straight at my heart. "If I go down, the girl dies first!"
BANG!
A shot echoed through the ballroom.
I flinched, closing my eyes, expecting the searing pain of a bullet. But the shot didn't come from Victor.
Victor gasped, dropping his revolver as a dark red stain bloomed across his shoulder. He collapsed onto his knees, clutching his arm in agony.
Standing near the VIP balcony above the ballroom was a tall woman in a dark trench coat, holding a silenced rifle. She lowered her hood, revealing pale skin, dark hair, and familiar blue eyes.
My breath caught in my throat.
"Natalie?" I screamed, tears bursting from my eyes. "NATALIE!"
My sister was alive.
She didn't hesitate. She tossed a smoke grenade down into the center of the ballroom. White, blinding smoke erupted instantly, sending the wealthy crowd into screaming, chaotic panic.
"Move!" Dante yelled, grabbing my hand tightly, pulling me through the dense smoke toward the service exit.
"My sister! She's up there!" I cried, trying to turn back.
"She's heading for the roof!" Dante called out over the alarms. "Marco, secure the exits! We're going up!"
We sprinted up the concrete stairwell, three steps at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it would burst. We burst through the heavy roof door into the chilly Chicago night air.
Standing near the edge of the helipad was Natalie. She was thin, exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, but she was holding a handgun, standing tall against the wind.
"Sophia!" Natalie cried, dropping her weapon and running toward me.
We collided in a fierce, tearful embrace, collapsing onto the concrete roof together, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I'm so sorry, Soph," Natalie wept, holding my face in her hands. "I'm so sorry I left you! I had to draw them away from Lily!"
"She's safe, Nat," I sobbed, kissing her forehead. "Lily is safe! She's with Dante!"
Natalie looked up, seeing Dante Moretti standing near the roof door, his weapon raised, watching the stairs.
"Mr. Moretti," Natalie breathed, wiping her tears. "Thank you... thank you for keeping them alive."
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Before Dante could answer, the roof door was kicked open with a violent crash.
Victor Belandi stepped onto the roof, his suit covered in blood, his face twisted into the terrifying mask of a dying monster. And in his left hand, he held a detonator.
