Chapter 10 - The Trap at Long Island
The Long Island estate sat high on a desolate,
rocky cliff overlooking the churning dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Heavy torrential rain slammed against the windshield of my SUV as my driver pulled up the long,
winding cobblestone driveway.
I knew coming here was an extreme risk.
Adrian was cornered,
facing federal indictments,
abandoned by his syndicate contacts,
and financially ruined by the evidence I had provided to the government.
Underneath my trench coat,
I wore a concealed wire,
broadcasting a live audio feed directly to Federal Prosecutor David Vance and Margaret Shaw,
who were parked half a mile away in an unmarked tactical vehicle.
I stepped out into the storm,
the cold ocean wind whipping my coat furiously against my legs.
I walked up the wide stone steps toward the heavy oak entrance doors.
Before I could ring the bell,
the door swung open.
Adrian stood in the dimly lit foyer,
holding an almost empty glass of scotch,
his eyes wild,
bloodshot,
and completely unhinged.
His tie was undone,
his hair disheveled,
and his posture slouched against the doorframe.
"You actually came,"
he whispered,
a bitter,
twisted smile spreading across his pale face.
He stepped aside,
gesturing for me to enter the dark mansion.
As I stepped into the foyer,
I glanced toward the main living room and froze.
Sitting on the leather sofas near the fireplace were two broad-shouldered men dressed in tailored Italian suits.
I recognized them instantly from corporate intelligence files.
They were senior enforcers sent directly from the Rossi family in Naples.
"Welcome home,
Nora,"
May you like
Adrian said,
locking the heavy oak door behind me with a loud metallic deadbolt.
