Chapter 5 - The Gift of a Trap
By the end of Claire’s second week, the dynamic inside the Moretti mansion had shifted. Sophia kept her distance, casting venomous glares from across the courtyard whenever she visited, while Ethan, her teenage son, seemed fascinated by Claire’s indifference to his uncle Dominic.
Raymond DeLuca, however, began showing up more frequently in Victor’s wing, always bearing expensive gifts—rare vintage ports, imported cigars Victor couldn’t smoke, and thick architectural portfolios.
“Raymond is getting impatient,” Victor muttered one afternoon while Claire was changing his bandages. “He thinks because my body is broken, my mind is a sieve. He wants to sell off the Boston docks to the syndicate from New York. I told him no.”
“And what did he say?” Claire asked, smoothing down the sterile gauze.
“He smiled. Raymond never smiles unless he’s burying someone.” Victor grabbed her wrist, his grip surprisingly firm. “Listen to me, Claire. Dominic is ruthless, but he operates on a code. He protects the family name. Raymond operates on greed. If someone is tampering with my medicine, it’s because Raymond needs me dead before the annual board meeting next month, where I planned to audit the offshore accounts.”
Claire’s heart hammered. “Did you tell Dominic this?”
“Dominic thinks Raymond is untouchable because he served my father for thirty years. He won’t believe it without physical proof.” Victor pointed toward a small, antique silver music box sitting on the mahogany dresser. “Open the false bottom.”
Claire hesitated, walked over to the music box, and pressed a hidden brass stud beneath the velvet lining. The bottom panel clicked open, revealing a micro-cassette recorder and a stack of printed bank statements bearing Raymond DeLuca’s personal signature, routing millions of dollars of Moretti assets into offshore shell companies in the Caymans.
“Take those,” Victor whispered. “Give them to Dominic. But do it carefully. If Raymond finds out you have them, you won't make it off the North Shore alive.”
That evening, Claire faced a terrible dilemma. If she handed the documents to Dominic, she would ignite an internal war. If she didn't, Victor might not survive the week.
At 10:15 PM, she walked down to Dominic’s private study on the ground floor. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar. Warm amber light spilled out across the Persian rug. She knocked once.
“Come in.”
Dominic was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, reviewing shipping manifests. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. He didn't look surprised to see her. “Nurse Donovan. Is my father having another episode?”
“No,” Claire said, stepping inside and closing the heavy door behind her. She walked across the room and placed the stack of bank statements and the micro-cassette directly on top of his paperwork.
Dominic didn’t look at the papers immediately. He looked at her face. “What is this?”
“Proof,” Claire said evenly. “Your father asked me to give them to you. He says Raymond DeLuca is systematically draining the family accounts and altering his medication to accelerate his physical decline.”
Dominic stood up slowly. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He walked around the desk, his gaze fixed on the documents. He picked up the bank statements, flipping through them with practiced, cold speed. His fingers didn't tremble. Not a single muscle moved in his face. But the silence that filled the room was heavier than a loaded gun.
“My father gave you these?” Dominic asked softly.
“Yes.”
“And you understood what would happen if I verified them?”
“I understand that your father believes someone inside this house is trying to murder him,” Claire replied, her voice unwavering despite the intense pressure radiating from the mafia boss.
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Dominic looked up from the papers, his dark eyes boring into her soul. For the first time, there was no clinical detachment in his expression—only a dark, terrifying storm of absolute fury.
“Raymond has been with this family since I was ten years old,” Dominic said quietly, stepping closer to her until she could feel the heat radiating from him. “If this is true, he won't just die. He will beg for it.”
