Chapter 11 - THE TRAP CLOSES ON LAKE FOREST
The cold glass of the penthouse window pressed hard against my spine.
Vincent’s fingers gripped my throat like a steel vise.
My air supply cut off instantly.
Spots danced across my vision.
Yet I didn't struggle.
I didn't claw at his hands or beg for mercy.
I simply looked straight into his panicked, raging eyes and smiled.
“You’re... too late, Vincent,” I choked out, my voice raspy.
“The... the timer is already set.”
Vincent’s grip loosened by a fraction of an inch.
“What timer?” he snarled.
“Federal marshals... are hitting Lake Forest... right now,” I whispered.
At that exact second, a dull, thunderous boom echoed through the downtown core.
Not from the penthouse.
From the direction of the Moretti Grand subterranean vaults.
Sirens began wailing outside on the street below.
Dozens of them.
Red and blue strobe lights painted the penthouse walls in flashing emergency patterns.
Vincent froze.
He turned his head toward the window, looking down at the street.
Entire convoys of unmarked federal black-and-whites and tactical vans surrounded the hotel perimeter.
Federal agents in riot gear swarmed the front entrance, battering down the glass doors.
“No,” Vincent muttered in sheer disbelief, his grip on my throat completely failing.
“No, no, no!”
He released me entirely, stumbling backward across the room as if he had been shot.
I coughed heavily, rubbing my bruised neck, taking deep, ragged breaths of air.
“You thought you were untouchable,” I said, my voice returning with cold clarity.
“You thought because men feared your name, the law couldn't touch you.”
“You forgot one fundamental rule, Vincent.”
May you like
“What’s that?” Vincent whispered, staring at me as if looking at a ghost.
“A man who builds an empire on lies,” I said steadily, “deserves to watch it burn.”
