Chapter 8 - The Betrayal
Two nights later, the inevitable trap was sprung.
It was 2:00 AM. The mansion was dark and silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace in the main lobby.
Victor had been called away forty minutes earlier by an emergency alarm at the downtown armory—a false flag operation designed to draw him away from the estate.
Chloe was asleep in her bed when the heavy oak door to her room crashed open.
She sat up in terror, pulling the sheets to her chest. "Victor?!"
Three men wearing ski masks and tactical gear rushed into the room. Before she could scream, a heavy cloth smelling of sweet, chemicals was shoved over her nose and mouth.
She kicked and thrashed, her fingernails scratching at the attacker's arm, but her vision quickly spun into darkness.
"Got her," a voice muttered. "Move before Russo realizes the armory alarm was a decoy!"
When Victor arrived at the downtown armory, he found it completely secure—no intruders, no security breach.
Realization struck him like a physical blow.
"The house!" Victor roared, whipping out his phone as he sprinted back to his armored SUV. "Marco! Check Chloe's room right now!"
Five minutes later, Marco's panicked voice came through the speaker. "Boss... she's gone. Paulie killed the guard at the back gate and let Donati's men inside! They took her!"
Victor slammed his fist into the steering wheel with such force that the leather cracked. A roar of pure, unadulterated fury echoed through the vehicle.
"Paulie betrayed us?" Victor growled, his eyes burning with lethal rage.
"We caught Paulie trying to flee through the woods," Marco reported, his voice dark. "He confessed. Donati promised him ten million dollars and control of the south docks if he handed over the girl."
"Where are they taking her?" Victor demanded, stepping on the gas pedal, the engine screaming as the SUV tore through the snowy Chicago streets at ninety miles an hour.
"Donati's abandoned slaughterhouse on the East Side," Marco said. "He sent a message to your private phone ten seconds ago."
Victor picked up his second phone. A text message from Leo Donati lit up the screen:
Come alone to the East Side slaughterhouse, Russo. Bring your surrender documents for the docks, or I'll send your maid back to you in a box.
Victor looked at the screen, his face hardening into an expression of terrifying, ungodly calm.
May you like
He reached under his seat and pulled out a heavy steel case. Inside lay two customized automatic pistols and three high-explosive grenades.
"Marco," Victor said into his radio, his voice flat, emotionless, and cold as grave dirt. "Mobilize every soldier we have. Call the Irish syndicate. Call the waterfront captains. Tell them Victor Russo is wiping the Donati family off the map tonight."
