Chapter 4 - The Anatomy of a Trap
By nightfall, a heavy blizzard had descended upon Chicago, howling estate like a wounded animal against the reinforced triple-pane windows of the The courtyard was completely swallowed by swirling white drifts, erasing our footprints and plunging the exterior grounds into near-total darkness.
Inside my private study on the second floor of the main residence, the fire crackled warmly in the grand stone hearth, casting dancing amber shadows across mahogany bookshelves and heavy velvet drapes. Nero lay stretched out entirely across the Persian rug in front of the fireplace, his massive black coat dry and glossy once more, his breathing deep and peaceful for the first time in months. In the adjoining sitting room, Elsie and Sienna were safely tucked away, provided with hot cocoa, a mountain of new toys, and a dedicated security detail stationed outside their door with strict orders to protect them with their lives.
I stood by the window, swirling a glass of amber Kentucky bourbon, watching the ghostly silhouettes of the security perimeter lights flicker against the blinding snow.
Viktor stepped silently into the study, closing the heavy oak door behind him with a soft click. "The trap perimeter is set, Boss. Marco and six of our best men are positioned in the blind spots along the west perimeter wall. The sensors are currently looping a pre-recorded motion feed, exactly as Miller would expect if he bypassed the grid using Matteo's stolen codes."
"And the drainage tunnel?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the snowy courtyard below.
"Sealed with an iron port-cullis on the inside, but we leave the outer grate unlatched. If they crawl through, they'll drop straight into the old boiler room. It's a dead end with only one exit—and we control the door."
"Good," I murmured, taking a slow sip of the bourbon. "I want Frankie Graziano alive. I want to know exactly how deep the Morello syndicate's tendrils go inside the municipal police department and city hall. Miller... handle him however you see fit, but make sure he understands what happens when someone touches my property."
Viktor's lips curved into a grim, humorless grin. "Understood, Boss. Should we feed Nero? He hasn't eaten a full meal since yesterday morning, given what that collar was doing to his nervous system."
At the sound of his name, Nero's large black head lifted off the rug. His amber eyes fixed directly on Viktor, then shifted to me. He gave a soft, inquiring huff, his tail giving a single, dignified wag.
"Feed him the prime rib from the kitchens, Viktor," I said, walking over to pat the great dog's broad head. Nero leaned heavily into my hand, completely healed from the trauma, his spirit unbroken. "He earned every ounce of it today."
As the clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily toward 11:45 PM, the tension in the room grew palpable. The blizzard outside intensified, rattling the windowpanes with gale-force winds.
Then, the secure monitor on my mahogany desk flickered.
May you like
A silent, amber light began to pulse on the tactical console—the motion sensor indicator for the west wing subterranean sector.
They were inside.
