Chapter 11 - bloodline and bulletproof glass
Elena stared at the federal badge sitting on the bed. The gold seal of the United States Department of Justice caught the morning light streaming through the reinforced windows.
“An FBI agent?” Elena whispered, looking from the badge to Lorenzo. “Why would the FBI kidnap a six-month-old baby and leave her in a dumpster?”
“They didn't,” Lorenzo replied, his voice dangerously calm. “Agent Miller was running Anthony Moretti as an informant for fourteen months. Anthony thought he was using the feds to take over my empire. Miller thought he was building a federal RICO case that would put me in federal prison for the rest of my life.”
“Then why take Sofia?” Marco asked, clearly struggling to keep up with the shifting battlefield.
“Because Miller knew I wouldn't leave my daughter,” Lorenzo said. “Anthony took Sofia from the nursery to use as leverage for the docks. But Miller intercepted the courier at the St. Jude. Miller didn't want Anthony to have her. And he couldn't bring a kidnapped baby into the federal field office without blowing his entire undercover operation.”
“So he dumped her,” Elena said, disgust burning in her chest. “He left a six-month-old child in the freezing cold behind a dumpster to protect his case.”
“He left her where he thought his own surveillance van would pick her up ten minutes later,” Lorenzo corrected coldly. “He was going to stage an ‘heroic federal rescue,’ frame Anthony for the kidnapping, and use Sofia’s recovery to force me into a witness protection plea deal. But you got to her first, Elena.”
Elena’s knees felt weak. She had walked directly through the crosshairs of a federal operation and a mob war, entirely by accident.
“What happens now?” Elena asked.
Lorenzo stepped toward her. He looked down at his daughter, who was now babbling softly, reaching for the shiny buttons on Elena’s uniform.
“Now, Anthony is cornered,” Lorenzo said. “He knows his hit team failed. He knows Sofia is back in my hands. And he knows Agent Miller can no longer protect him. By noon, Anthony will attempt to flee the country through the private air terminal at Teterboro.”
“We move on Teterboro now,” Marco said, checking his magazine and racking the slide of his pistol.
“No,” Lorenzo commanded. “Anthony has private security and federal eyes watching the airport. If we roll up with five cars, it turns into a public slaughter on live television. That’s what Miller wants.”
Lorenzo turned his dark eyes back to Elena.
“Elena,” Lorenzo said. “You clean the executive suites at the St. Jude. You know the layout of the private underground garage that connects the hotel to the subway transit hub.”
“Yes,” Elena said, her voice steadying.
“Anthony’s primary offshore accounts can only be authorized through the secure terminal located inside Suite 812,” Lorenzo said. “Before he gets on that plane, he has to go back to that room to wipe the servers and transfer the funds. If he doesn't, he lands in Europe with empty pockets.”
“You want me to go back to the hotel,” Elena realized, her pulse quickening.
“No,” Lorenzo said firmly. “I will never use a child or an innocent woman as bait. You stay here with Sofia. You have full command of my private security detail on this floor.”
Elena looked at Lorenzo. For the first time, she didn't just see a ruthless mob boss. She saw a father who was willing to burn his own empire down to keep his child safe.
“You’re walking into an ambush if you go through the front, Mr. Moretti,” Elena said. “The freight elevator you used tonight is monitored by Tommy, the operator I told you about. He’s on someone’s payroll. If you use the main service entrance, Anthony will know you’re coming five minutes before you hit the eighth floor.”
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “And how do you suggest I get in?”
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Elena pulled a small, tarnished brass key from her apron pocket—the key to the hotel’s century-old laundry chute system that bypassed all electronic security.
“Take me with you,” Elena said. “Not as bait. As your guide.”
