Chapter 13 - The Trap Springs Shut
-13-
I didn't flinch as the federal marshals advanced, their boots clicking sharply against the marble floor as they forced Miller to his knees, kicking his suppressed pistol away and slapping steel cuffs around his wrists.
Lucian remained frozen on his knees beside the empty bassinet, staring up at me as if I were a ghost haunting the ruins of his life.
“You asked how I knew you were coming, Lucian?” I said, walking slowly toward him, stopping ten feet away while the marshals kept their rifles leveled at his chest. “Did you really think Sal Vitale came out of Florida retirement just to offer you a passport and a sympathetic ear?”
Lucian’s eyes widened slightly. “Sal... Sal was my father’s most loyal enforcer.”
“Sal was a federal informant for the past twelve years,” Elena chimed in, stepping forward with a tablet displaying a signed FBI cooperation agreement. “The moment Sal landed in New York three days ago, he called Marcus Vance’s office to negotiate a full pardon in exchange for recording your desperate, illegal plan to kidnap your own son.”
Lucian stared at us, the devastating magnitude of his stupidity finally crashing over him like a tidal wave. Every move he had made, every conversation he had held in the dark corners of the penthouse, every lie he had told himself about reclaiming his empire—it had all been orchestrated, monitored, and scripted by the very woman he had underestimated.
“You led me here,” Lucian whispered, his voice trembling violently as he looked up at me. “You knew I would try to take the boy. You set this entire trap just to catch me in the act of a federal felony.”
“I didn't set a trap, Lucian,” I corrected him quietly, adjusting the sling holding Nico against my heart. “I gave you enough rope to hang yourself. You could have walked away with your life, your freedom, and a clean slate. But your arrogance wouldn't let you accept defeat. You had to prove you were still the master of the Moretti name.”
Lucian let out a hollow, broken laugh that turned into a ragged sob. He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking with the agony of a king who had traded his crown for a prison cell.
“Arrest him,” I commanded softly.
The federal marshals stepped forward, hauling Lucian roughly to his feet. He didn't fight back. He didn't even lift his head as they slapped heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists and dragged him past the broken glass terrace door into the freezing rain outside.
As they forced him toward the waiting black SUVs, Lucian paused for a fraction of a second, casting one last desperate look back through the conservatory glass.
I didn't look away. I stood tall, holding our son against my heart, watching the father of my child disappear into the dark New York night, locked away in a cell he had spent his entire life building for himself.
Elena let out a long, shuddering breath, walking over to me and resting a hand gently on my shoulder.
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“It’s over,” she whispered. “He’s gone. The syndicate is dismantled, the assets are secured, and the federal marshals are transferring him to a maximum-security holding facility in upstate New York. No bail. No appeals.”
“It’s not just over, Elena,” I said, looking down at Nico as he let out a tiny, peaceful yawn in his sleep. “It’s just beginning.”
