They Drenched the Plus-Size Waitress in Coke for Laughs, Then Her Husband Walked Into Their Million-Dollar Meeting

Gabriel sat in the passenger seat of his matte-black SUV as Marco drove at breakneck speeds through the downtown traffic of Harbor City, running red lights and mounting sidewalks. Behind them, three black armored vans filled with Moretti tactical loyalists followed in tight formation.

"Boss! I just got word from our surveillance team outside City Hall," Marco shouted over the roar of the engine. "The security feed went dark five minutes ago! Claire’s primary guard isn't answering his radio!"

Gabriel’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white, his fingernails biting into his palms until skin broke.

"Julian Sterling," Gabriel growled, his voice sounding like grinding tectonic plates. "Dante confessed before I turned him over to the federal marshals. Sterling is the money behind the operation."

"Sterling owns the private airfield down at Blackwood Bay," Marco realized. "If he gets Claire onto a plane, international law will make it almost impossible to track them!"

"He won't make it to the airfield," Gabriel said, pulling a custom high-powered sniper rifle from the rack behind his seat and chambering a heavy armor-piercing round. "Contact our harbor patrol. Tell them to lock down the Blackwood Bay bridge. Nobody crosses."

At the basement loading bay of City Hall, Julian Sterling’s men shoved Claire and Richard into the back of a blacked-out executive van. Julian climbed into the front passenger seat.

"Drive!" Julian ordered.

The van screeched out of the underground parking garage, tires burning rubber against the concrete, speeding toward the highway leading to Blackwood Bay.

Inside the rear of the van, Claire leaned over to her father. Richard was pale, struggling to breathe through his bruised ribs.

"Dad," Claire whispered, her voice quiet and urgent. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetie..." Richard wheezed. "I'm just... so sorry I couldn't protect you."

"Listen to me," Claire said, using her fingers behind her back to feel around the dark carpet of the van. Her hand brushed against a heavy metal emergency tool mounted under the rear passenger bench—a glass-breaker hammer. "We aren't victims, Dad. We're Morettis now. Help me lean back."

Richard understood instantly. He shifted his body, shielding Claire from the view of the two armed guards sitting across from them in the dark cabin. Claire twisted her hands, using the sharp steel tip of the glass-breaker tool to saw repeatedly against the thick plastic zip-tie binding her wrists.

The friction burned her skin, drawing blood, but she didn't make a sound. She grit her teeth, sawing relentlessly.