Chapter 7 - The Trap Springs
Claire moved before Adrian’s voice even faded.
She drew her Sig Sauer in a single, fluid motion, stepping out from the shadows into the center of the dining room.
"Marcus! Lock the east doors!" Claire shouted.
Marcus slammed the heavy iron bolts across the east windows, securing the interior. At the same second, the heavy wooden main doors of the dining room swung open, and Leo stepped into the room leading eight heavily armed Moretti tactical guards carrying suppressed assault rifles.
Outside the glass patio doors, shouting erupted—followed immediately by the heavy, metallic sound of flashbang grenades detonating in the courtyard.
BANG! BANG!
Blinding white light flashed through the French windows, followed by the sound of glass shattering as Cruz’s strike team—trapped on the open patio between Marcus’s locked doors and Leo’s perimeter team outside—was completely overwhelmed.
Inside the dining room, chaos reigned.
Vanessa's cousin Julian reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling his compact .38 revolver toward Adrian.
Claire didn't hesitate. She raised her Sig Sauer, lining up the front sight with Julian's right shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
POP!
The suppressed round struck Julian's shoulder with terrifying accuracy. The revolver flew from his hand, bouncing across the Persian rug, and Julian collapsed into his chair, screaming in pain as blood soaked his white dress shirt.
"Nobody move!" Leo roared, his tactical team sweeping the long table, pointing their weapons directly at Vanessa’s father, her brother, and her three key associates.
Within ninety seconds, the courtyard outside went completely silent.
The heavy glass doors opened, and two of Adrian's senior officers walked into the room, dragging a tall, bruised man in a dark tactical vest whose hands were bound behind his back with plastic zip-ties.
It was Victor Cruz.
The terror in the room evaporated, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence.
Vanessa stood paralyzed near the head of the table, her face drained of all color, her hands shaking so violently she dropped her silver bell onto the marble floor. It landed with a tiny, pathetic clink.
Adrian stepped around the table, walking slowly toward Victor Cruz. He didn't look angry. He looked like an emperor reviewing a defeated general.
"Victor," Adrian said smoothly. "You came all the way from Chicago for my rehearsal dinner. You should have brought a gift."
Cruz spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at Adrian with murderous eyes. "How? How did you know about the boathouse route?"
Adrian didn't answer. He turned his head, looking toward the middle of the room where Claire stood, her pistol held at low ready, her eyes cool, calm, and completely unshakeable.
"My chief tactical advisor noticed a cut on a leather tray this morning," Adrian said softly.
Vanessa’s head snapped toward Claire. She stared at the woman in the charcoal suit, her eyes widening in horror as she finally recognized the blue eyes and sharp jawline of the maid she had ordered to kneel six hours ago.
"You..." Vanessa gasped, her voice choking in her throat. "The maid..."
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Claire walked forward, stopping three feet from Vanessa. She reached into her wool jacket, pulled out the brass bell tied to the white ribbon that Vanessa had given her at breakfast, and tossed it onto the table beside Vanessa's champagne glass.
"Your service is dismissed, Miss Carlisle," Claire said cleanly.
