Chapter 2 - The Panic at Moretti Tower
Back in downtown Chicago, Vincent Moretti stood in the center of the master bedroom, feeling the room tilt beneath his feet.
The closet was half-empty; Claire’s tailored coats, her everyday boots, and Emma’s bright dresses were completely gone.
On the marble surface of the dresser, his grandmother’s heirloom ring gleamed under the recessed lights, cold and mocking.
Beside it sat a crisp white envelope containing a single document: an emergency petition for sole physical custody and divorce.
Vincent gripped the edge of the dresser, his knuckles turning white as blood pounded in his temples.
"Where is she?!" Vincent bellowed, whirling around toward his head of private security, Dominic Russo.
Dominic, a seasoned combat veteran who had stood beside Vincent through three gangland wars, stepped backward.
"The back gate cameras were bypassed between six-fifteen and six-forty, boss," Dominic reported cautiously.
"Her brother Julian handled the logistics. He’s blocked every satellite tag on her private vehicle."
"Then find her brother!" Vincent yelled, sweeping an antique crystal vase off the counter, shattering it against the floor.
"Tear the city apart! Call the police commissioners, the airport directors, the harbor patrol! Nobody takes my daughter!"
His personal phone chimed on the nightstand, playing a high-pitched ringtone he knew all too well.
Sophia.
Vincent reached down and swiped the call onto speaker without looking.
"Vincent, where are you?" Sophia’s breathy, helpless voice echoed through the bedroom.
"The plumber is asking for six hundred dollars to fix the pipe under my sink, and I'm having another panic attack. You promised you'd stay with me until noon."
Vincent froze, staring at the phone as if he were seeing the device for the very first time.
The image of his six-year-old daughter vomiting on an emergency room gurney flashed through his mind like a physical blow.
He remembered Claire’s exhausted, hollow eyes behind the locked bedroom door at three in the morning.
Sophia was terrified, he had argued through the wood.
Your daughter was terrified too, Claire had answered before he walked away into the dark.
"Vincent? Are you there?" Sophia pleaded, her voice artificially delicate. "I really need you, sweetheart."
"Fix the pipe yourself, Sophia," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a register colder than absolute zero.
"What? Vincent, that’s cruel! You know I don't have anyone else—"
"Do not call this phone again," Vincent interrupted with brutal finality.
May you like
He ended the call, hurled the phone against the far wall where it shattered into plastic shards, and turned to Dominic.
"Bring the car around," Vincent ordered, his jaw clenched tight. "We are going to Vance Legal."
