Chapter 17 - The Infiltrator
The crisp autumn air of October brought glowing orange leaves to the sprawling suburban campus of St. Jude’s Academy.
Security around Emily was subtly doubled,
with disguised Moretti agents stationed as groundskeepers,
teachers,
and administrative staff throughout the campus.
Despite the invisible ring of steel around her,
Emily carried out her daily routine with complete composure.
During lunch hour,
Emily sat at an outdoor marble table beneath a giant oak tree,
reviewing financial spreadsheets for the Carter Foundation’s new children’s hospital.
A tall,
handsome young man with smooth manners and tailored clothes approached her,
carrying a cup of hot espresso.
His name was Julian Vance,
a transfer student from Chicago who had arrived at the academy three weeks prior.
Julian was charming,
wealthy,
and had spent days trying to get close to Emily,
offering help with studies and inviting her to elite social gatherings.
"Mind if I sit here,
Emily?"
Julian asked,
offering a warm,
disarming smile that usually swayed most girls at the school.
Emily didn't look up from her tablet immediately.
She finished highlighting a line of data,
then turned her sharp brown eyes toward him.
"Go ahead,
Julian,"
she said politely,
her voice calm and guarded.
Julian sat down across from her,
setting the coffee on the stone table.
"You always work so hard,"
Julian remarked smoothly,
leaning back.
"My father owns a logistics firm in Chicago,"
"and he says business shouldn't consume a person's youth."
"You should come to my family's autumn ball this weekend."
"It’s going to be at the lakeside estate."
Emily looked closely at the young man.
She noticed the tiny,
almost imperceptible detail on his left wrist—a subtle,
faded tattoo beneath his watch band representing the crest of the Rossi syndicate.
She also noticed that his phone,
resting on the table,
was flashing an encrypted satellite ping every ninety seconds.
Lorenzo had trained her for five years to notice every detail,
every lie,
and every hidden weapon in a room.
Emily smiled faintly,
leaning forward slightly,
her posture relaxed.
"Your father's logistics firm,"
Julian?"
she asked softly.
"Does it specialize in northern shipping routes through Pier 42?"
Julian’s smile froze for a fraction of a second,
a sudden flicker of tension touching his eyes before he recovered his charm.
"We handle cargo across the entire Midwest,"
Julian replied,
laughing softly.
"Why do you ask?"
Emily quietly tapped a command on her smart ring,
transmitting Julian's facial metrics and phone frequency directly to Dante’s tactical unit stationed outside the school gates.
"Because Pier 42 belongs to Lorenzo Moretti,"
Emily whispered,
her eyes turning cold as steel.
"And anyone sent by Marcello Rossi to track my movements usually doesn't survive the week."
Julian’s face turned ghastly white.
He instinctively reached toward his jacket pocket,
where a hidden concealed device was stored.
Before his hand could even touch his lapel,
two broad-shouldered men dressed in dark suits stepped out from behind the oak tree,
their heavy hands clapping down onto Julian’s shoulders like iron vices.
Marco,
Emily’s longtime driver,
leaned down near Julian’s ear,
his voice low and deadly.
"Don't make a scene,
boy,"
Marco whispered.
"Mr. Moretti would like to have a polite conversation with you about your father."
Emily calmly stood up,
packing her tablet into her leather satchel without a single hand shaking.
She looked down at the terrified infiltrator,
adjusting her blazer calmly.
"Tell Don Rossi,"
May you like
Emily said quietly,
"that Detroit doesn't welcome spies."
