Chapter 6 - The Trap Springs Shut
Within three seconds, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway.
The double doors burst open, and three armed security guards flooded the room, their weapons half-drawn, led by Gabriel, Dante’s chief of security. Right behind them strode Dante Moretti, his dark eyes scanning the chaotic scene with terrifying intensity.
Celeste lay crumpled on the floor near the bar, her palm bleeding, tears streaming down her carefully made-up face as she pointed a trembling, dramatic finger straight at me.
“Dante! Thank God!” Celeste sobbed hysterically. “I caught her stealing family heirlooms from the cabinet! When I confronted her, she flew into a rage, smashed the crystal decanter, and attacked me! Look at what she did to my hand!”
The guards stared at me in stunned silence. I stood barefoot near the bar, clutching the crumpled prescription receipt in my fist, surrounded by hundreds of glittering, razor-sharp shards of broken crystal.
Gabriel looked from Celeste to me, his face grim. “Miss Cruz, step away from the glass immediately and put your hands where we can see them.”
“She’s lying!” My voice cracked, raw and desperate as I looked past the guards straight at Dante. “She’s poisoning Valentina! Look at this receipt—she’s been altering the old woman’s medication!”
I held out the crumpled paper, stepping forward.
“Don’t move!” one of the guards barked, leveling his weapon slightly.
Dante didn't look at the paper in my hand. His dark, impenetrable eyes remained locked on my face. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of raw conflict crossed his features—the eternal battle between the ruthless empire he commanded and the fragile trust we had built in the quiet hours of the night.
Then, behind us from the dimly lit corridor leading to the private family suites, a weak, trembling voice cut through the heavy silence.
“She... she is not lying.”
Everyone froze.
Valentina Moretti stepped into the dining room, leaning heavily on her ebony cane, wrapped in a dark silk robe. Her face was pale, drawn, and paper-white, but her dark eyes burned with absolute, unyielding fury as she looked down at Celeste on the floor.
“Valentina, you shouldn't be out of bed,” Celeste stammered, her hysterical tears instantly drying up as panic flashed across her face. “The girl is lying to you—she’s trying to cover up her theft—”
“Shut your lying mouth, you miserable little viper,” Valentina snapped, her voice carrying the terrifying authority of the matriarch who had built the Moretti dynasty alongside her late husband. “I’ve felt my strength fading for months. I’ve tasted the bitter poison in my evening tea. And I saw you exchanging vials in the dispensary cabinet three days ago.”
The room grew so quiet you could hear the distant hum of the city lights outside the glass windows.
Celeste scrambled backward on the marble floor, her face draining of all color. “Dante... you don't believe her, do you? We’re family! We’re supposed to—!”
Dante slowly turned his head away from Celeste. The air in the penthouse dropped ten degrees. The dark, lethal fury radiating from his frame was something I had only ever heard rumors about in the underworld circles of Chicago.
“Gabriel,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a register so dangerously calm it made the guards step back.
“Boss?”
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“Take her down to the lower holding cells. Strip her accounts, sever every corporate tie her family holds with our holdings, and make sure she never sees the light of day again.”
“No! Dante, you can’t do this to me! You’ll ruin us!” Celeste screamed, thrashing wildly as two guards grabbed her by the arms and hauled her screaming toward the service elevators, leaving a faint smear of blood across the pristine white marble.
