Chapter 7 - THE TRAITOR WITHIN
The breath caught in my throat.
On the live video feed, my former supervisor—the man who had threatened to fire me if I didn't bring my sick baby into the Moretti estate—was standing casually in a high-stakes war zone, grinning like a shark.
"You played your part well, Arthur," Julian’s smooth voice echoed through the safehouse speakers. "Planting the girl at the cleaning office, making sure she had no choice but to bring the child straight to the lion's den. A masterpiece of psychological engineering."
Arthur sneered, tightening his grip on the knife he held against the guard’s throat. "It wasn't hard, Mr. Vance. The girl was desperate, broke, and drowning in medical bills. All it took was a few anonymous debt collection notices and a forced shift assignment."
Victor didn't look at Arthur. His dark, bloodshot eyes were fixed entirely on Julian, his chest heaving with heavy, exhausted breaths as blood slowly pooled around his boots.
"You're a coward, Julian," Victor rasped, his voice rough and gravelly. "You always were. You couldn't beat me face-to-face twenty-five years ago, and you can't beat me today without hiding behind mercenaries and low-level corporate trash."
Julian chuckled, stepping closer to Victor, tapping his silver cane rhythmically against the concrete floor. "Call it what you want, old friend. But empires aren't built on honor. They're built on leverage. And right now, I have the ultimate leverage."
Julian pulled a small, sleek electronic tablet from his trench coat pocket and held it up to the camera.
"The baby," Julian purred, his smile widening into something predatory. "The girl escaped on your boat, Dante, but my satellite trackers picked up her signal the moment you hit open water. A strike team is already intercepting them at the Montauk pier."
My blood turned to ice. I spun around, grabbing Dante by the arm. "Dante! They're coming here! We have to move Lily—"
Before I could finish the sentence, the heavy wooden front door of the Montauk lodge was blown off its hinges with a deafening crash.
Splintered oak and snow flew into the hallway as three heavily armed mercenaries in black tactical gear poured into the cabin, their assault rifles raised and sweeping the room.
Dante didn't hesitate. With lightning speed, he drew his pistol, diving behind the heavy oak desk and returning fire. A deafening exchange of gunfire erupted inside the small cabin, shattering windows and riddling the walls with bullet holes.
I scooped Lily’s stroller up, shielding her with my own body as I scrambled toward the back kitchen exit.
"Hannah! Through the pantry!" Dante shouted over the gunfire, firing two rapid shots that dropped one of the mercenaries in the doorway.
I pushed through the pantry door into the blinding snow of the cliffside woods, the freezing wind biting my skin like fire. Lily whimpered softly in her sleep, her breathing still dangerously shallow.
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I had to run. I had to protect my daughter. But as I plunged deeper into the dark pine forest, the crunch of heavy boots behind me signaled that we were completely out of time.
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