Chapter 4 - The Tarmac Trap
The private jet sat idling on the cracked asphalt of the municipal airstrip near Traverse City, its twin jet engines whining against the biting autumn wind blowing in off Lake Michigan. Gray clouds hung low over the horizon, threatening a freezing downpour.
Camille sat in the passenger seat of Dante’s armored SUV as it rolled silently off the main access road, cutting its headlights a quarter-mile away from the tarmac and rumbling into the shelter of a dense grove of pine trees.
Through the tinted windshield, they could see Trevor Ames pacing anxiously near the stairs of the charter jet, a heavy leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his phone pressed frantically to his ear as he shouted at whoever was on the other end.
"He’s panicking," Sal murmured from the back seat, racking the slide of a suppressed firearm with a clean, metallic clack.
"Nobody shoots unless I give the order," Dante commanded, his voice cold and absolute. He turned to Camille, who was staring out the window at the man she had almost married. "Stay in the vehicle, Camille."
"I don't think so," Camille said, already reaching for the door handle before Dante could stop her.
Before he could pull her back, Camille pushed the heavy door open and stepped out into the freezing wind. Her boots crunched against the gravel as she marched straight out from the treeline toward the illuminated tarmac, her leather jacket snapping in the gale.
Trevor didn't notice her approach until she was thirty feet away.
He spun around, his face pale and slick with nervous sweat, dropping his phone to the pavement where it shattered into pieces.
"Camille?" Trevor’s voice cracked in disbelief. "How... how did you find me?"
"You left a trail of breadcrumbs made of stolen money and broken lives, Trevor," Camille said, her voice cutting through the whine of the jet engines like a razor. She stopped five feet away from him, her eyes burning with a righteous fury that made him flinch.
Trevor cast a frantic look around the open airfield, realizing too late that the shadows beyond the tarmac were suddenly occupied by heavy, silent men in dark suits blocking every possible exit route.
"Camille, please, listen to me," Trevor stammered, holding up his hands defensively. "I can explain everything. I was cornered! The firm was failing, debts were piling up—I did it for us!"
"For us?" Camille laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "You were flying to the Bahamas with another woman’s money, running away from a baby you fathered behind my back, and you have the audacity to say you did it for us?"
"I never loved Mara!" Trevor shrieked, his voice rising in hysterical panic. "She meant nothing! You were always the one I wanted to marry!"
"That's funny," a deep, velvet voice cut in from the darkness behind Camille.
Trevor’s eyes bulged as Dante Moretti stepped out from the glare of the jet’s floodlights, his charcoal suit immaculate, his expression completely devoid of mercy.
Trevor stumbled backward, hitting the side of the jet’s metal stairs. "D-Dante... Mr. Moretti... I swear to God, I was going to wire the funds back—"
"You were going to wire nothing," Dante said smoothly, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed. Before Trevor could blink, Dante grabbed him by the lapels of his designer jacket, lifting him half an inch off the ground with pure, effortless strength. "You stole from my sister, you lied to her face, and you used another innocent woman as a shield for your pathetic little crimes."
"Please! Don't kill me!" Trevor sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks as he wet himself with primal terror.
Dante looked over at Camille, giving her a silent, questioning nod. Do you want him?
Camille stepped forward. She looked at the whimpering, broken wreck of a man who had once worn a tuxedo and sworn eternal loyalty to her. All the pain, all the betrayal, all the humiliation of the past twenty-four hours crystallized into a single, liberating truth: she hadn't lost a husband. She had narrowly escaped a monster.
With a cold, deliberate calm, Camille reached back and slapped Trevor across the face with every ounce of strength she possessed. The crack echoed sharply across the empty tarmac.
Trevor stumbled, sprawling hard onto the cold asphalt, dropping his duffel bag, which popped open to spill bundles of banded hundred-dollar bills across the ground.
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Dante’s men moved in instantly, zip-tying Trevor’s wrists behind his back and hauling him roughly to his feet.
"Take him to the warehouse," Dante instructed Sal without breaking eye contact with Camille. "Let federal authorities know an anonymous tip has provided them with a complete digital ledger of his embezzlement and tax evasion. He’ll be spending the next twenty years reflecting on his choices in a maximum-security cell."
