Chapter 3 - THE TRAP IS SET
At 8:15 p.m., the rain turned into a heavy downpour, drumming against the glass ceiling of the estate’s conservatory.
I stood in the darkened security observation gallery directly above the room, watching through a one-way glass panel. Beside me, Marco held an audio receiver linked to a directional microphone hidden inside an antique bronze statue of Venus.
Below us, Vivian stood near a cluster of tropical orchids, sipping a glass of Pinot Noir.
The doors opened, and Damian stepped inside. He had removed his jacket, his silk tie loosened at his collar. He walked over to Vivian, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her into a hard kiss.
"Be careful," Vivian whispered, pushing him back with a slight laugh. "The staff are still awake. That maid, Sophie, has been creeping around the halls all evening."
"Sophie is a nobody," Damian scoffed, taking the wine glass from her hand and taking a sip. "She’s a twenty-dollar-an-hour servant who doesn't know her place. How did it go with the old woman?"
Vivian’s face darkened. "She refused to sign. She’s stubborn, Damian. She threatened to tell Massimo the moment he lands from London."
"She won't get the chance," Damian said coldly. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, amber glass bottle with a white dropper cap. "Did you swap her heart medication like we discussed?"
Vivian nodded, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a prescription bottle filled with small yellow pills. "I took her Digoxin out of her nightstand drawer this afternoon. I replaced them with the sugar placebos you gave me."
My blood ran cold.
Digoxin was my mother’s primary heart-stabilizing medication. Without it, her heart rate would spike uncontrollably, leading to acute atrial fibrillation and cardiac arrest within forty-eight hours. To any medical examiner, it would look like a natural heart failure brought on by age and previous surgical complications.
"Good," Damian sneered, slipping the prescription bottle into his pocket. "When Massimo lands tomorrow, he’ll find his mother in the ICU. He’ll be so consumed with grief that he won't look twice at the trust documents. I’ll present the amended paperwork to his legal team as a 'prior request' from Lucia before her stroke. Once he signs off on the emergency authorization, we control the board of Moretti Logistics."
Vivian wrapped her arms around Damian’s neck. "And what about the maid? She saw me hit the old woman today. She knows I took the pills."
Damian smiled—a thin, vicious curve of his lips that made my stomach turn.
"Don't worry about Sophie," Damian said softly. "I’ve already taken care of her."
In the gallery above, I looked at Marco. "What does he mean?"
"I don't know, boss," Marco whispered, his face pale. "I'll check the house feeds."
On the screen below, Damian pulled a small leather pouch from his pocket. Inside was a diamond lily brooch set in platinum—my grandmother’s antique heirlooms, valued at four hundred thousand dollars, which was kept in the master safe in the east wing.
"I took this from your dressing room an hour ago," Damian told Vivian. "Tomorrow morning, I’ll drop it into Sophie’s locker in the staff break room. Then I'll call Detective Alvarez at the 19th Precinct—the guy on our payroll. He’ll execute a warrant, find the brooch in her locker, and arrest her for grand larceny."
Vivian gasped, a look of pure delight illuminating her face. "A theft charge! She’ll be discredited instantly! Nobody will believe a word she says about me hitting Lucia!"
"Exactly," Damian laughed. "She’ll be sitting in a Rikers Island holding cell while we're standing at the altar of St. Patrick’s Cathedral."
They clinked their wine glasses together, laughing softly in the dim light of the conservatory.
Above them, in the dark gallery, I felt a terrible, cold resolve settle over my soul.
They thought they were playing a game of chess against an absent king. They thought they were the smartest predators in the city. They had no idea that every word, every whisper, every monstrous calculation was being recorded in uncompressed audio and video, backed up to three off-site cloud servers.
"Marco," I whispered, my voice cutting through the dark gallery like a steel blade.
"Yes, boss?"
"Where is Detective Alvarez right now?"
"He’s on night duty at the precinct," Marco replied, checking his phone. "He’s been taking monthly envelopes from Damian’s shell company for two years."
"Contact the Special Investigations Division of the NYPD," I ordered calmly. "Speak directly to Deputy Commissioner Walsh. Tell him I have ironclad evidence of systemic bribery and evidence tampering involving one of his detectives. Tell him to have an internal affairs team on standby."
"And Damian?" Marco asked, his eyes gleaming. "Do we lock him up tonight?"
I looked down through the one-way glass at my cousin, who was leaning over Vivian, kissing her neck while holding my grandmother’s diamond brooch in his hand.
"No," I said softly. "Damian wants a grand show. He wants St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He wants three hundred guests, the press, and the political elite of New York."
May you like
I turned away from the glass, buttoning my coat against the chill of the subterranean room.
"Give him his show, Marco. Give them both the performance of their lives."
