Chapter 5 - THE BAGGAGE CLAIM
The wheels of the massive jet touched down with a heavy thud, the engines roaring in reverse thrust as the plane slowed on the Italian runway.
Clare’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Leo was finally awake, looking around with wide, curious eyes, while Maya rubbed sleep from her face, clutching her now-empty pink rabbit.
Through the gap in the curtain, Clare saw Richard stand up the moment the seatbelt sign turned off. He looked smug, confident, adjusting his tie as he grabbed his carry-on bag. He didn't even glance back toward first class. He assumed he had already won.
He thought he was walking off the plane to meet the Italian police and take his daughter.
“Stay here,” Dante murmured to Clare.
He didn't wait for the cabin doors to open. Dante Salvatore walked through the curtain into the premium economy section, followed closely by two massive security guards who had materialized from the rear of the first-class suite.
Clare watched in terrified silence as Dante fell into step right behind Richard in the aisle. Richard didn't notice him. He was too busy looking out the window at the terminal building.
Ten minutes later, Marco tapped Clare on the shoulder.
“It’s time, Mrs. Jensen,” the giant bodyguard said softly. “Follow me.”
Clare stood up, balancing Leo on her left hip and holding Maya’s hand tightly in her right. They didn't walk toward the main exit at the front of the plane. Marco led them to a small service door at the rear of the galley.
He opened it, revealing a set of metal stairs leading down to the tarmac.
The hot, humid air of Rome hit Clare instantly. Waiting at the bottom of the stairs were three black, armored SUVs with heavily tinted windows.
“Get in the middle car,” Marco instructed, holding the door open for her.
Clare climbed in, strapping Maya into a car seat that had already been installed, then settling herself with Leo. The doors slammed shut, enclosing them in silent, air-conditioned luxury.
“Where is Dante?” Clare asked Marco as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“Mr. Salvatore is handling Mr. Peterson’s customs paperwork,” Marco said dryly, putting the SUV in gear.
Inside the main terminal, Richard Peterson strode confidently toward the passport control lines. He had a fake smile plastered on his face, ready to play the victimized father for the Polizia di Stato.
But as he approached the lines, two men in sharp Italian suits stepped out from behind a pillar. They didn't look like police officers. They looked like predators.
“Mr. Peterson,” one of the men said in heavily accented English. “If you would please come with us. There is an issue with your visa.”
Richard frowned, his confidence faltering. “There’s no issue. I’m an American citizen. I need to speak to the port authority. My wife is on that plane and she has kidnapped my child.”
“Of course,” the second man smiled, taking Richard firmly by the elbow. “We will handle everything. Right this way.”
They didn't lead Richard to a bright, glass-walled office. They led him through a discreet door marked Staff Only, down a long, concrete hallway that smelled of cleaning supplies and jet fuel.
“Where are we going?” Richard demanded, trying to pull his arm away. “This isn't customs.”
The men didn't answer. They shoved him through a heavy metal door into a windowless baggage handling room. The room was empty, save for the rhythmic clanking of a massive luggage conveyor belt.
Standing in the center of the room, waiting patiently, was Dante Salvatore.
Richard froze. The smugness finally drained completely from his face, replaced by a dawning, primal terror.
“You,” Richard stammered, backing toward the door. But the two men in suits blocked his exit, locking the heavy deadbolt behind him.
“Welcome to Rome, Richard,” Dante said smoothly. He walked slowly toward the financial advisor, his hands casually in his pockets.
“I want my wife,” Richard said, trying to sound authoritative, but his voice cracked. “And I want my daughter.”
“You don't care about your wife. Or your daughter,” Dante corrected gently. “You care about this.”
Dante pulled the small black USB flash drive from his pocket and held it up between two fingers.
Richard’s eyes widened in absolute horror. He patted his jacket pockets frantically, then realized the truth. “You… you found it.”
“It was clumsily sewn,” Dante noted, examining the drive. “The Moretti family pays you millions to launder their money, and you hide their entire digital ledger in a stuffed rabbit using a hotel sewing kit. Pathetic.”
Richard swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. “Give that back to me. You don't know what you’re dealing with. The Morettis will kill me if I lose that.”
“The Morettis are going to kill you anyway, Richard,” Dante smiled. “Because I am going to mail this drive to the FBI field office in Chicago tomorrow morning.”
“No!” Richard shrieked, lunging forward.
Dante didn't even flinch. Before Richard could take two steps, one of Dante’s men stepped forward and drove a heavy baton into the back of Richard’s knees.
Richard collapsed onto the concrete floor with a scream of pain.
Dante crouched down smoothly, bringing his face inches from Richard’s sweating, terrified face.
“You pushed a child,” Dante whispered, the lethal calm in his voice more terrifying than a shout. “You hit a woman. You used them as mules for your cowardice. If you were a man in my organization, I would cut your hands off.”
Richard was weeping now, clutching his knees. “Please. Please, don't kill me. Take the drive. Take the money. Just let me go home.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Richard,” Dante said softly. He stood up, adjusting his cuffs. “I’m going to do something much worse.”
Dante turned to his men.
“Put him back on the next flight to New York,” Dante ordered. “And make sure Don Moretti knows exactly what flight he’s on. Tell the Don that his accountant lost the ledgers.”
Richard screamed, thrashing on the floor. “No! They’ll torture me! They’ll kill me at the airport! Dante, please!”
Dante didn't look back. He walked out the heavy metal door, leaving Richard screaming in the windowless room.
When Dante stepped into the back of the armored SUV twenty minutes later, Clare flinched.
She looked at him, her eyes wide and terrified. “Where is Richard?”
Dante looked at the trembling American mother holding his sleeping son. His expression softened instantly.
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“Richard went home,” Dante said quietly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy gold key.
“And you,” Dante said, placing the key gently into Clare’s hand, “are coming home with me.”
