Chapter 3 - The Coldest Hunt
Vincent didn’t sleep for forty-eight hours. The Moretti syndicate was mobilized not for a turf war or a federal raid, but for a ghost. In the high-security compound on the outskirts of Chicago, his top enforcers stood in absolute silence, terrified of the lethal tension radiating from their boss. Vincent sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his eyes bloodshot, his tailored suit rumpled, and a loaded Beretta resting next to the crumpled ultrasound report.
"Find her," Vincent whispered, his voice dangerously low. "Every highway camera, every private airfield, every bus depot, every bank account. If she breathes, I want to know the coordinates of the air she's inhaling."
"Boss," Marco, his right-hand man and lifelong confidant, spoke cautiously. "She didn't use any credit cards or bank accounts linked to the family. She liquidated her personal savings months ago in cash. She left her phone in a garbage truck heading for Indiana. She planned this with military precision."
Vincent slammed his fist onto the desk, cracking the polished wood. "Then dig deeper! She is out there alone! And she is..." He couldn't even finish the sentence. The words choked him. She was carrying his child, vulnerable, hiding from the very man who swore before God and his syndicate to protect her above all else.
The heavy double doors of the office swung open, and Sophia walked in, holding Noah’s hand. She wore an expensive cashmere sweater, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence. "Vincent, darling, what is going on? The guards wouldn't let my car through the gate. Noah has his violin recital this afternoon, and you promised you would sit in the front row—"
Vincent looked up. For two years, he had seen Sophia through a veil of nostalgic duty and protective tenderness. Now, with the scales ripped from his eyes by Claire’s absence, he saw the calculated entitlement dripping from her posture. He looked at Noah, wearing custom clothes bought with Moretti funds, wearing the sacred heirloom meant for his real heir.
"Get out," Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
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Sophia blinked, stunned. "Vincent? What did you say? Did Claire say something to you again? I told you, she’s just insecure about our bond. You shouldn't let her dramatic outbursts—"
Vincent rose from his seat. The sheer aura of predatory menace made Marco instinctively step back. Vincent walked around the desk until he was inches from Sophia. "You will pack your things, leave the estate house I provided, and never step foot on Moretti property again. If you ever speak my wife's name with that mouth, I will forget the promise I made to your dead husband. Get out of my sight before I lose what little control I have left."
