Chapter 6 - The Trap Sprung
Isabella had dismissed the two guards at the door—or rather, two massive Santoro enforcers were currently blocking the entrance, preventing Luca’s men from seeing inside.
“Well, well,” Isabella purred, her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. “Look at Cinderella. Dressing up in Luca’s money. Do you really think a designer dress washes away the smell of bleach and dish soap, Emma?”
I stood up immediately, placing myself squarely between Isabella and Sofia.
“You shouldn't be here, Miss Santoro,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. “Mr. Moretti made it clear that you are not to approach Sofia.”
“Mr. Moretti isn't here,” Isabella snapped, her eyes raking over me with pure disgust. “And you are way out of your depth, little girl. You think you can steal my life? You think you can take my ring, my status, my future, and walk around high society like you belong?”
“I didn't steal anything from you,” I countered. “You threw it away when you shoved me in that pantry.”
Isabella let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “A shove? You haven't seen anything yet.”
She suddenly reached into her small beaded evening clutch and pulled out a heavy velvet pouch. With a swift, practiced motion, she hurled it violently across the room. It struck the edge of the dessert table, spilling its contents across the white linen cloth.
Diamonds.
Dozens of loose, uncut diamonds, along with a magnificent diamond choker that bore the distinct seal of the Drake family estate—the main charity auction centerpiece that was supposed to be presented at midnight.
At the exact same moment, Lorenzo Santoro threw open the curtains, accompanied by three private hotel security guards and the hotel manager.
“There she is!” Lorenzo yelled, pointing an accusing finger straight at me. “That’s the woman! I saw her slipping into the private vault behind the stage twenty minutes ago!”
The hotel manager turned pale. “The gala centerpiece! It’s missing from the safe!”
“Look on the table!” Isabella cried out, clutching her chest in feigned horror. “She brought the stolen loot in here! She was trying to hide it in Sofia’s bag!”
The pieces clicked together in a terrifying flash.
It was an ambush. A public, catastrophic framing designed to ruin me completely. In front of the city’s elite, I would be branded a common thief who exploited Luca’s generosity and used his innocent daughter as a mule. Luca would have no choice but to distance himself from me, or risk being tied to an open felony investigation in front of federal judges.
“Check her purse!” Lorenzo demanded, stepping forward aggressively. “Check the girl!”
“Don't you dare touch her,” I shouted, stepping forward to block Lorenzo.
The hotel guards moved in, their expressions hardened. “Miss, please step away from the child. Keep your hands where we can see them.”
“This is a lie!” I argued, my chest heaving, the sharp phantom pain in my ribs flaring up again. “Isabella threw those diamonds on the table seconds ago! Check the cameras!”
“The corridor cameras suffered an electrical glitch five minutes ago,” Lorenzo sneered with a venomous grin. “What a tragic coincidence. Arrest her.”
One of the guards reached for my arm.
“Touch her, and that hand doesn't stay attached to your wrist.”
The voice didn't come from inside the room. It came from behind the curtain, vibrating with an authority so absolute, so lethal, that the entire room froze.
Luca Moretti stepped through the archway.
He wasn't alone. Flanking him were four towering men in dark suits, their coats slightly unbuttoned, revealing heavy shoulder holsters. Luca didn't look at the diamonds. He didn't look at the hotel guards.
His eyes locked onto Lorenzo, then slid slowly to Isabella.
“Luca!” Isabella gasped, her voice instantly switching to a panicked squeak. “Thank God you’re here! We caught her! Your maid—she broke into the auction vault! Lorenzo saw her! Look at the diamonds!”
Luca walked into the center of the room, his stride leisurely, utterly calm. He stopped beside me. His shoulder brushed against mine, a solid, immovable fortress.
“Is that so?” Luca murmured.
“Yes!” Lorenzo insisted, puffing out his chest. “The evidence is right in front of you, Moretti. She used your access pass. She’s a thief. Hand her over to the police before this blows up in your face.”
Luca slowly turned his head toward the hotel manager. “Mr. Sterling.”
The manager swallowed hard, sweating through his collar. “Y-yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Whose security firm handles the Drake Hotel’s private vaults?”
The manager blinked. “Why… Moretti Logistics & Security, sir. Your company.”
A ghost of a smirk played on Luca’s lips. Lorenzo’s eyes widened slightly in sudden realization.
“And whose private server hosts the backup feeds for every closed-circuit camera in this building?” Luca continued, his voice dripping with condescension.
Silence fell over the room. Deadly, suffocating silence.
Luca reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a sleek titanium smartphone. He tapped the screen twice and turned it around, holding it in front of the hotel manager’s face—and Lorenzo’s.
On the high-definition screen, a clear, crisp color video was playing.
It showed Isabella Santoro bribing a catering employee outside the vault door ten minutes earlier, taking the velvet pouch from an inside locker, and walking directly toward the family lounge. There was no glitch. There was no mystery.
Every single second of their setup had been recorded in real time.
Isabella’s face drained of every drop of blood. She looked like a ghost.
“You… you set us up,” Lorenzo stammered, stepping back toward the exit.
“No,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “You walked into a spider’s web because you were too arrogant to realize that this city belongs to me. You tried to hurt Emma once. Now you tried to destroy her reputation and use my daughter as collateral.”
Luca lowered the phone and looked directly at his guards.
May you like
“Escort the Santoros to the loading dock,” Luca commanded softly. “Tell Marcus I’ll be visiting his home tonight. And tell him to bring his checkbook… and his undertaker.”
***
