Chapter 6 - The Trap is Sprung
Two days later, the storm broke.
Dominic executed his plan with surgical precision. Instead of confronting Raymond directly, he set a trap. He leaked a false memo through his executive assistant stating that Victor Moretti had suffered a sudden, catastrophic heart failure and was being rushed to a private clinic in Boston under heavy guard.
At 11:00 PM, the mansion was seemingly deserted. Most of the security detail had been deployed to escort the decoy ambulance down the coastal highway. Only two guards remained at the main gates, and Dominic sat in his dark security bunker, watching every camera feed with cold, lethal focus.
In Victor’s bedroom, the old man lay completely still under the covers, eyes closed, breathing evenly. Claire sat in her usual armchair by the window, pretending to read a medical journal, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
At precisely 11:45 PM, the heavy oak door of the bedroom clicked open.
A shadow slipped into the room.
It wasn't Raymond. It was Ethan, Sophia’s nineteen-year-old son, wearing dark clothes and carrying a small, unmarked plastic syringe in his latex-gloved hand.
Claire stood up slowly from her chair, blocking his path to the bed. Ethan froze, his youthful face twisted in a mixture of panic and teenage arrogance.
“Get out of the way, nurse,” Ethan hissed, brandishing the syringe.
“What are you doing, Ethan?” Claire asked, keeping her voice remarkably calm, though her hands were trembling inside her pockets.
“Grandpa is ruining everything,” Ethan spat, his voice shaking with bitter resentment. “He’s leaving everything to Dominic, and my mother gets nothing. Raymond said if I just helped accelerate the inevitable, our branch of the family would control the shipping ports by winter.”
From the bed, Victor Moretti slowly sat up, throwing off the blankets. His face was a mask of ancient, crushing disappointment. “Raymond is using you, you foolish boy. He’s using you as a disposable pawn.”
Ethan’s eyes widened in sheer panic. He lunged forward toward the bed, raising the syringe to inject the old man directly through the IV port.
Claire moved with the speed of her emergency room training. She grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from the bedside table and slammed it against Ethan’s wrist with a sickening thud. The syringe flew from his grip, shattering against the hardwood floor.
Ethan screamed, clutching his broken wrist, but before he could swing back, the bedroom doors flew wide open.
Dominic Moretti stepped into the room.
The air vanished from the space. Dominic didn't yell. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply walked forward with the slow, terrifying inevitability of an avalanche.
Ethan backed away until his spine hit the carved wardrobe, his face completely drained of color. “Uncle Dominic... wait... Raymond told me to—it was Raymond’s idea—”
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Dominic grabbed Ethan by the collar of his shirt with one hand, lifting the nineteen-year-old off his feet effortlessly, and slammed him against the wood with a dull crash that rattled the picture frames on the wall.
“Raymond,” Dominic whispered, his voice dangerously soft. “Is currently having a very long conversation in the basement with three men from Boston.”
