Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den
At 6:45 PM, a unmarked black catering van pulled up to the heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate in Glen Cove, Long Island. Rain was falling in torrents, mixing with the melting snow to turn the sprawling lawns into a muddy lake.
Arthur Pendelton sat in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.
Beside him sat Elena, dressed in the formal black-and-white uniform of a high-end catering captain. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a pair of clear-lens glasses to alter her appearance. Underneath her apron, tucked securely against her ribs, was a small, concealed radio earpiece.
Two armed guards in black raincoats approached the van, shining high-powered flashlights into the cab.
"State your business," one guard barked.
"Arthur Pendelton, Briarstone Event Management," Arthur said, forcing his voice to sound steady as he handed over his credentials. "We have the vintage champagne and seafood platters for Mr. Marco Moretti's emergency meeting."
The guard ran the ID card through a portable scanner. The green light blinked. He flashed his light into the back of the van, where stacked steel crates obscured the floor.
"Who's she?" the guard asked, pointing his light directly into Elena's face.
"Elena, my head floor supervisor," Arthur replied smoothly. "We were short-staffed tonight on short notice."
The guard stared at Elena for three excruciating seconds. Elena didn't look down; she maintained the dull, indifferent expression of a overworked service employee who would rather be anywhere else.
"Go through," the guard finally waved his hand. "Park near the east service entrance. Do not go into the main hall without an escort."
The heavy gates swung open.
Arthur drove the van down the long, tree-lined driveway toward the massive, Tudor-style mansion rising out of the mist.
"Good Lord," Arthur muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "My heart is going to explode."
"Keep it together, Arthur," Lorenzo’s voice came faintly through Elena’s earpiece. He was stationed in a command van two miles down the road, monitoring the operation via satellite and internal feeds. "Once you enter the kitchen, Elena has four minutes to reach the private study on the second floor before Marco’s captains arrive for the meeting."
The van stopped at the service door. Elena and Arthur stepped out into the pouring rain, lifting heavy aluminum cases to maintain their cover.
They pushed through the kitchen doors. The room was chaotic, with hired chefs frantically preparing food for the gathering mob bosses. No one paid any attention to Elena as she set down a tray of champagne glasses.
She glanced at her watch. 7:12 PM.
Elena slipped out through the pantry door, stepping into a dimly lit, carpeted hallway lined with oil paintings of former Moretti patriarchs. She kept her head low, adjusting her tray of empty glasses as if she were on a routine cleanup run.
She reached the grand staircase. Above, she could hear loud, angry voices echoing from the main dining room—Marco Moretti was already holding court, convincing his captains that his brother Lorenzo had lost his mind with grief and was no longer fit to lead.
Elena slipped up the stairs, dodging two guards who were busy talking near the landing.
She reached the heavy mahogany doors of the master study.
"I'm at the door," she whispered into her lapel mic.
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"The code for the keypad is 0-7-1-2," Lorenzo’s voice replied. "The safe is hidden behind the portrait of the lion on the north wall. Use the medallion."
Elena entered the code. The lock clicked softly, and she slid into the dark, silent study, closing the door behind her.
