Chapter 16 - THE RAT AT THE GATES
The storm cleared just before dawn, leaving the estate wrapped in an eerie, clinging fog that rolled off the Hudson River. The private airstrip on the western edge of the Moretti property was quiet, the sleek twin-engine Gulfstream G650 sitting on the tarmac like a waiting black panther.
Elena embraced me on the tarmac, wrapping a thick cashmere scarf around my neck to shield Hope from the biting autumn wind. Hope was tucked securely into a heavy-duty tactical baby wrap strapped against my chest, sleeping soundly beneath layers of warm wool.
“Come back to us, Clara,” Elena whispered, kissing both of my cheeks, her eyes filled with sisterly terror and fierce loyalty. “Grace and I will be praying at Daniel’s memorial every hour until you land.”
“Keep the gates locked,” I told her. “Don't trust anyone who isn't inside these walls right now.”
Vincent stood near the boarding stairs, speaking in low, urgent tones with Matteo. Something was wrong. Vincent’s brow was furrowed, his eyes scanning the tree line beyond the hangar with cold suspicion.
“What is it?” I asked as I approached the stairs.
Vincent didn't look at me; his eyes remained fixed on the perimeter fence where two patrol guards stood with Belgian Malinois attack dogs. “The dogs didn't bark last night when Julian breached the river wall.”
My blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”
“Those animals are trained to tear apart anyone who doesn't smell like blood or family,” Vincent said grimly. “They didn't make a sound. The river gate sensors were manually bypassed from inside the security booth twenty minutes before Julian’s boat hit the rocks.”
“A leak,” I whispered. “Someone let him in.”
“Not just someone,” Vincent said quietly. “Someone with executive security clearance.”
Matteo stepped forward, his expression grave. “Boss, only three people have the master codes to the river gate sensors: you, me, and Marcus.”
Marcus was Vincent’s second lieutenant—a man who had served the Moretti family for fifteen years, a veteran who had stood beside Vincent’s father in the old syndicate wars.
“Where is Marcus now?” Vincent asked calmly, though the calm was far more terrifying than any roar of anger.
“He took the armored SUV ahead to the private terminal in New Jersey to run the diversion route,” Matteo answered, his hand instinctively dropping to his sidearm.
Vincent pulled out his satellite phone, dialed a direct line, and hit speaker.
The phone rang three times. Then, a click.
“Boss,” Marcus’s gruff voice came through the speaker. “I’m five minutes out from Teterboro. The runway is clear. If Julian has spotters here, my convoy will draw them off before your bird takes flight.”
Vincent didn't answer immediately. He stared down at the wet tarmac, watching the reflection of the gray morning clouds.
“Marcus,” Vincent said smoothly. “Do you remember the winter of ’18 in Palermo?”
A long pause on the other end of the line. The background noise from Marcus’s vehicle seemed oddly muted.
“Of course, Boss,” Marcus chuckled, though the laughter was brittle. “We drank grappa until sunrise after clearing out the Falcone docks.”
Vincent clicked the phone off without another word.
He turned to Matteo. “Shoot him the moment his convoy hits the turnpike.”
I gasped, catching Vincent’s arm. “Vincent! How do you know?”
“I wasn't in Palermo in the winter of ’18,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into arctic coldness. “I was in a federal hospital in Boston recovering from three gunshot wounds. Marcus sat by my bed every single night for three weeks. If he were the real Marcus, he would have called me an idiot for forgetting.”
Before Matteo could draw his radio to give the order, a sharp crack echoed from the top of the hangar roof.
A high-caliber sniper round tore through the tarmac three inches from my boot, sending shards of asphalt exploding into the air.
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“Ambush!” Matteo screamed, lunging forward to throw his body over mine and the baby.
Vincent was already moving. He grabbed me by the back of my coat, lifting me off my feet, shielding us with his own body as automatic rifle fire tore into the side of the Gulfstream, the glass windows shattering into a thousand diamond fragments.
