Chapter 5 - The Safe Inside the Master Closet
Julianna’s face transformed in an instant. The soft, elegant socialite vanished, replaced by a snarling, cornered animal. She dropped the crystal tumbler she was holding; it shattered against the floorboards, spraying bourbon and broken glass across Dante's leather shoes.
"You arrogant prick," she hissed, backing away toward the large walk-in closet behind the bed. "You think you own this city? The Vitelli family has three crews coming up the drive right now. You’re done, Dante. The Moretti name dies tonight!"
Dante didn't draw his gun. He didn't raise his voice. He simply advanced with slow, predatory steps. "The Vitelli family is twenty minutes away from realizing their communications have been severed. Your driver didn't make it past the front gate, Julianna. And your little burner phone is currently resting in my breast pocket."
Julianna lunged into the walk-in closet, reaching desperately toward a false wall panel behind a row of designer fur coats. She knew the emergency safe code; she knew Dante kept a loaded Glock 19 tucked behind the cedar shelving.
Her fingers frantically punched four digits into the keypad: 0-9-1-4.
The safe beeped twice — a low, flat rejection tone. Red LED light.
"Looking for this?" Dante asked from the closet doorway.
He held up a small brass cylinder: the internal firing pin of the Glock. He tossed it onto the plush carpet between her bare feet. It rolled to a stop against her ivory hem.
"You went through my things," she whispered, her chest heaving, terror finally cracking through her bravado. "Who told you? Who did you talk to? Nobody in your crew knew about Marco. We were careful!"
"A far better detective than you," Dante said coldly.
Julianna slid down against the cedar wall, her manicured nails digging into the wood. "Dante, listen to me. Marco threatened my family. He told me if I didn't help him take over the north side docks, he’d kill my brother in Miami. You know what he’s like! Please, Dante... you loved me!"
Dante looked down at her with dead eyes. "You asked him for the River North penthouse. You put that in writing, Julianna. You traded my life for real estate and a seat at Vitelli’s table. Don't insult my intelligence by weeping for a brother you haven't spoken to in six years."
Outside, through the heavy rain, the faint screech of wet tires sounded from the estate's lower driveway.
Julianna’s head snapped toward the window. A wild, desperate hope ignited in her eyes. "They're here," she breathed, laughing through her tears. "Marco is here! He has thirty men with automatic rifles. You don't have enough muscle in this house to stop them!"
"I don't need thirty men," Dante said calmly, checking his grandfather's pocket watch — the spare one he kept in his desk. It was 11:42 PM. Exactly eighteen minutes before midnight. "I only need the rain, the iron gates, and the fact that Marco still thinks you're opening the basement door."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the burner phone, and rapidly typed a reply to Marco Vitelli:
Dante is unconscious on the floor. Service door is unlocked. Come straight to the courtyard.
He hit send, then tossed the phone onto Julianna’s lap.
"Sit there and don't move," Dante commanded, his voice freezing the air in the closet. "If you stand up before midnight, my men outside this door will shoot you without asking for my permission."
He stepped out of the closet, pulled the heavy oak door shut, and turned the brass skeleton key in the lock.
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Downstairs, the estate was plunged into total darkness as Dante hit the master circuit breaker in the upstairs hallway. Only the flash of distant lightning illuminated the long marble corridors. Dante pulled his radio from his belt.
"Vinnie," Dante spoke into the receiver. "Marco took the bait. He’s walking twenty men into the sunken courtyard. Close the perimeter boxes. Let no one leave."
