Chapter 6 - The Trap is Set
Back at the penthouse, the atmosphere transformed from survival to absolute war.
Vincent’s tech team spent two hours decrypting the raw data on Clara’s hard drive. What they found exceeded even Vincent’s expectations.
The ledgers detailed an international money laundering network operated by Harrington & Lowe on behalf of Salvatore Riggi—the brutal head of the Cicero mob and Vincent’s primary rival in the Midwest.
More importantly, the documents proved that Brandon Pierce had been acting as Salvatore’s personal bagman, transferring stolen corporate funds into offshore accounts in exchange for a ten percent cut.
Clara sat at the long dining table beside Vincent, walking his legal and financial teams through every complex spreadsheet, pointing out hidden ledger entries and shell corporation tax filings.
"He used my credentials to approve the final three transfers," Clara explained, her finger pointing at a line item on the glowing screen. "See here? This transfer of five million dollars was signed using my digital key at 2:00 AM on August 14th. I was in the hospital having my appendix removed that night. I have the medical records to prove it."
Vincent stared at the screen, a dark, triumphant smile blooming across his handsome face. He reached out, taking Clara’s hand under the table, his fingers squeezing hers tightly.
"You’re brilliant, Clara," Vincent murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You just gave me the key to destroy Salvatore’s entire empire without firing a single shot at his men."
"What about Brandon?" Clara asked, her voice turning cold and sharp.
"Brandon is currently at the Fountainbleu Hotel in Miami," Vincent said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "He thinks he’s safe because he’s out of state. He doesn't realize that my men own the hotel."
Vincent tapped his screen, placing a call on speakerphone.
"Boss," a rough voice answered from the speaker.
"Is he there, Marco?" Vincent asked.
"Sitting by the pool right now, boss," Marco replied. "Drinking champagne with two women. He has no idea we’re here."
Clara leaned toward the phone, her pulse racing. "Tell him Clara Jenkins sends her regards."
Vincent looked at her, his dark eyes flashing with pride and rising desire.
"You heard the lady, Marco," Vincent commanded. "Bring him back to Chicago. Unharmed, but terrified. I want him on his knees in my basement by midnight tomorrow."
"Understood, boss," Marco said before the line went dead.
Vincent turned in his chair to face Clara. He reached out, framing her face with his large hands, his thumbs stroking her soft cheekbones.
"You did it, Clara," he whispered. "You took your life back."
Clara looked at him—at the sharp jawline, the slate-gray eyes that looked at her with pure devotion, the powerful body that had protected her from absolute ruin.
"I couldn't have done it without you, Vincent," she whispered back.
"Yes, you could have," Vincent said fiercely. "You had the strength inside you all along. I just provided the guns."
May you like
He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers—a gentle, questioning touch that made Clara’s entire body shiver with golden heat. She let out a small breath, wrapping her arms around his broad neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
Vincent groaned low in his chest, pulling her up out of her chair and onto his lap, his large hands gripping her soft waist, holding her close as his mouth possessed hers with hungry, passionate intensity.
