Chapter 15 - The Paper Trap
Ruiz was on her radio instantly, her expression shifting from routine tactical caution to sharp, predatory focus.
"Dispatch, this is Unit Four," Ruiz's voice echoed faintly through the ravine, bouncing off the damp asphalt below. "We have an active seizure at the St. George crossing. Manifest links directly to the Vance Trust and Sea Breeze Holdings. Contact the regional field office—issue an immediate federal detention warrant for Alessandro Romano and Clara Vance."
The world tilted.
"She thinks we're running it," I whispered, the cold air burning my throat. "Dominic didn't just send a warning letter to scare us off. He knew we’d try to intercept the convoy. He tipped off the feds himself!"
"He sacrificed five million dollars to put us in federal custody," Alessandro said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "If we're in holding cells awaiting arraignment, Dominic has forty-eight hours of uncontested control over the docks. And inside a federal facility, an accidental overdose or a staged inmate fight is easy to arrange."
"Boss!" Victor’s voice hissed over the radio comms. "Two state police cruisers just turned onto Route 1 from the north. You have four minutes before the perimeter seals the ridge. Get back to the truck now!"
Alessandro grabbed my wrist, pulling me back into the dense underbrush just as a police siren wailed in the distance. We ran through the wet hemlocks and slick granite boulders, branches whipping against our jackets, our boots sinking into the spongy moss.
We hit the bed of the box truck sixty seconds later. Victor slammed the cargo doors, locked the internal deadbolts, and threw the truck into gear.
The vehicle lunged forward onto the logging road, rocking violently as Victor accelerated away from the highway, keeping the truck hidden behind the canopy of dense spruce.
Inside the dark cargo bay, I collapsed against the steel ribs of the wall, my chest heaving, the realization washing over me like icy sea water.
"My mother," I gasped, looking at Alessandro through the gloom. "The warrant includes my name. They’re going to raid the cottage."
Alessandro pulled out his burner phone, his thumbs flying across the keypad. "Cal McCrady has my old Boston Whaler at the fuel dock. He owes me three months of engine work. He’ll take your mother out to Monhegan Island before the state police reach Kennebunkport. No one searches the lobster shacks on Monhegan."
"And us?" I demanded, wiping cold sweat from my forehead. "We're fugitives now, Alessandro. We can't walk into a bank, we can't sleep at the diner, and if Ruiz catches us, we spend twenty years in a federal penitentiary for narcotics trafficking!"
Alessandro put the phone away and sat down beside me on the wooden floorboards. He reached out, taking both of my trembling hands into his calloused palms.
"Dominic made one mistake," he said softly.
I looked into his slate eyes. There was no panic there. Only the cold, calculating mind that had survived twenty years of syndicate civil wars.
"What mistake?"
"He used the old Romano Maritime notary stamp on the manifest," Alessandro said. "That stamp was retired three years ago when my father had his second stroke. The original physical brass seal isn't in Boston. It isn't at Pier 12."
"Where is it?"
"It’s buried in the foundation of the old parish church on North Margin Street," Alessandro murmured. "Along with my father’s real confession. Dominic thinks he forged a paper trail that buries me. But if I bring that brass seal to the United States Attorney, Dominic’s entire case collapses into fraud."
"North Margin Street," Victor called from the cab, sliding open the small viewing window. "That’s right in the middle of Dominic’s personal territory, boss. He has fifty men on those four blocks."
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Alessandro picked up his shotgun, checking the breach with a cold, metallic click.
"Then we’d better make sure we arrive hungry," Alessandro said. "Because the only way to clear our names is to walk straight into the wolf’s den."
