Chapter 8 - The Final Trap
The victory, however, had one fatal flaw: a desperate animal is most dangerous when cornered.
Salvatore Moretti, broken and stripped of his empire, refused to go quietly into the night. Knowing he had nothing left to lose, he executed a final, reckless gambit.
Two days after the collapse of his syndicate, Sadie went out to the estate’s greenhouse to pick fresh herbs for the evening meal—a small taste of normalcy she had grown to enjoy.
She didn't notice the quiet crunch of gravel behind her until it was too late.
A heavy hand clamped over her mouth, and a cold steel barrel pressed against her temple.
“Don’t make a sound, sweetheart,” a gravelly voice hissed in her ear. “The boss wants to say goodbye.”
Before Sadie could scream, a rag soaked in chemical solvent was shoved over her nose and mouth. The sweet, choking smell filled her lungs, and darkness swallowed her whole.
When Dominic returned to the estate an hour later, he found the greenhouse empty, save for a shattered terracotta pot and a single gold signet ring left on the potting bench—belonging to Salvatore Moretti.
The fury that erupted inside Dominic Castile was biblical.
Within fifteen minutes, every available man, asset, and informant was activated. The entire city of Chicago became a trap closing in on a single rat.
“Where is she?” Dominic snarled into his phone, pacing his underground war room like a caged panther.
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“We have a ping on Moretti’s burner phone,” Carmine reported from the console. “Abandoned warehouse down by the old industrial docks. The same docks where this whole war started.”
Dominic didn't wait for another word. He grabbed his tactical vest and a customized Sig Sauer, his eyes burning with absolute, lethal intent.
