Chapter 6 - THE RED CASHMERE COAT
The mechanical click of three rifles racking simultaneously sounded unnaturally loud in the narrow, wet alley.
Daniel froze, the tire iron slipping slightly in his sweaty grip. The four Rossi thugs behind him instinctively backed away, their eyes darting up to the fire escapes.
Red laser sights cut through the dark, painting three glowing dots directly onto Daniel’s chest.
Matteo hadn’t come to the Lakeshore Club unprepared. He never went anywhere unprepared.
“Drop the iron, Daniel,” Matteo commanded, his voice as cold as the rainwater pooling around their feet.
Daniel dropped it. The metal clattered loudly against the pavement. He raised his hands, his face pale and slick with sweat.
“Mr. DeLuca,” Daniel stammered, his bravado entirely evaporating. “Please. I was just following orders. Chloe’s father—he’s crazy. He’s holding the CEO hostage inside right now. He’s locking down the whole building.”
Grace felt a sickening lurch in her stomach. “My parents are in there. Lily is in there.”
“Rossi won’t hurt them if he gets what he wants,” Daniel pleaded, looking at Grace as if she might suddenly pity him. “He just wants the terminal card, Grace. Tell him to give it to me.”
Grace looked at the man she had once promised to spend her life with. She saw exactly what Matteo saw: a weak, self-serving coward who would trade an innocent child and a good man’s life just to save his own skin.
“You disgust me,” Grace said softly.
She stepped past Matteo, walked right up to Daniel, and slapped him across the face with everything she had.
The crack echoed in the alley. Daniel stumbled back, holding his cheek, shocked.
“That’s for my father,” Grace said, her voice shaking with adrenaline.
Matteo watched her, a profound, undeniable look of pride crossing his sharp features.
“Tie them up,” Matteo ordered, gesturing to the guards hidden above. “Put them in the dumpster. If Daniel makes a sound, shoot him in the knees.”
As the heavily armed guards descended from the fire escape, Matteo grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her toward the black town car.
His driver already had the back door open.
“Where are we going?” Grace asked as they slid into the leather seats. “We can’t leave my family inside with Rossi.”
“We aren’t leaving,” Matteo said, tapping the glass partition. The driver immediately threw the car into reverse, backing out of the alley and killing the headlights. “But we can’t walk through the front door. If Rossi has the ballroom locked down, he’s using the guests as hostages.”
“Then how do we stop him?”
“We cut off his leverage.” Matteo pulled out his phone. “Rossi only has power because he has the forged shipping manifests proving Alden Freight authorized the smuggling. The CEO is in his pocket, but the physical ledger with the forged signatures is what Rossi uses to blackmail him.”
“Where is the ledger?” Grace asked.
Matteo looked at her, his eyes entirely dark. “Daniel brought it with him tonight. It’s in his briefcase.”
“I didn’t see Daniel with a briefcase,” Grace said, trying to remember the ballroom.
“He didn’t have it in the ballroom. He checked it.”
Matteo pulled the white plastic terminal card from his pocket and set it on the seat between them. Then, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of red paper.
A coat check ticket.
“I lifted this from Daniel’s pocket when I took the silver bracelet from Chloe,” Matteo explained smoothly.
Grace stared at him. He had orchestrated that entire confrontation not just to defend her honor, but to pickpocket Daniel without him noticing.
“The ledger is in his coat,” Matteo said.
“My dad threw Daniel’s gray coat on the counter,” Grace remembered.
“The gray coat was a decoy,” Matteo said. He held up the ticket. “This is a VIP ticket. Daniel checked a second item. A red cashmere coat. He told me earlier he bought it for Chloe in Milan.”
Grace’s mind raced. “So we need to get back to the coat check.”
“We need to get the ledger, bring it to the police, and prove Rossi is behind the smuggling ring before he realizes we’re moving against him.” Matteo looked at his watch. “But my men can’t infiltrate the coat check without triggering a shootout in the lobby.”
“I can,” Grace said instantly.
Matteo stopped. “No.”
“Matteo, I know the Lakeshore Club,” Grace insisted, leaning forward. “I catered here for two years after my divorce before I started working for you. There’s a service tunnel that connects the basement laundry directly to the coat check booth. The Rossi men won’t be guarding a laundry chute.”
“It’s too dangerous, Grace. You are not a soldier.”
“I am a daughter trying to save her father,” she fired back, her eyes burning with fierce determination. “Give me the ticket.”
Matteo studied her face. He saw the absolute resolve there. He knew he couldn’t stop her without tying her down.
Slowly, he handed her the red ticket.
“Three minutes,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into a deadly serious register. “You go up the chute. You grab the red coat. You come straight back down. If you see anyone, you run.”
“I will.”
The car rolled to a silent stop near the basement loading grates of the club.
Grace slipped out of the car. She pulled off her heels, carrying them in one hand, and moved quietly to the grate. She unlocked it using the catering trick she remembered, slipping down into the dark, damp basement.
She navigated the familiar concrete tunnels, the hum of the washing machines masking her footsteps. She found the narrow wooden stairs leading up into the back of the coat check booth.
She cracked the small access door open.
The coat room was empty. The attendant was gone, likely rounded up into the ballroom with the rest of the hostages.
Grace slipped inside.
The racks were packed with hundreds of coats. She frantically scanned the VIP section.
There it was. A blindingly bright red cashmere coat hanging at the end of the rack.
Grace ran to it. She plunged her hand into the deep left pocket. Empty.
She reached into the right pocket.
Her fingers brushed against cold, hard leather.
She pulled it out. It was a small, black leather-bound ledger. The forged shipping records.
“Got it,” she whispered to herself.
She turned back toward the hidden door.
But as she reached for the handle, a cold, heavy object pressed against the back of her head.
“I was wondering when you’d show up, Grace.”
Grace froze.
Standing right behind her was Chloe.
And she wasn’t alone. Standing next to Chloe was a massive, heavily scarred man wearing a tailored suit.
May you like
Vincent Rossi.
And in his hand, he was holding Grace’s father by the throat.
