Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Gate
The service loading dock of the Bellandi Grand was a cavernous, concrete-floored labyrinth where massive delivery trucks backed up to heavy metal bay doors. At this hour, it was usually a staging ground for crates of fresh produce and rolling linen bins.
Today, it was a battleground.
As Marco and I stepped out of the service elevator, flanked by two towering security guards, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead hummed a frantic, buzzing tune.
Standing near the center bay doors was a man I hadn't seen in three years.
Victor Vance looked heavier, his hair slicked back with too much pomade, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat that looked slightly too tight across his thick shoulders. Beside him stood two local Chicago police officers in dark blue uniforms, looking thoroughly annoyed to have been dragged out on what was clearly a personal vendetta disguised as a civil dispute.
And huddled near the security desk a few yards away, clutching his small chocolate cake box like a shield, was Noah.
My heart stopped.
"Noah!" I cried out, breaking away from Marco's side and sprinting across the concrete floor.
Noah looked up, his big gray eyes wide with fear, and ran straight into my arms. I dropped to my knees, crushing him against my chest, burying my face in his soft hair as a sob tore free from my throat.
"Mommy, who is that man?" Noah whispered frantically into my neck. "He said we stole things. He said the police were going to take us away."
"You didn't steal anything, baby," I whispered back, kissing his forehead repeatedly while my hands trembled against his back. "Mommy is right here. Nobody is taking us anywhere."
"Well, well, well," a smooth, greasy voice drawled from above us.
I stood up slowly, keeping Noah tucked safely behind my legs, and turned to face Victor.
Victor smiled, a sickeningly familiar smirk playing across his fleshy lips as he adjusted his lapels. He looked past me, taking in the massive concrete loading dock, the security guards, and finally, Marco Bellandi, who was walking toward us with slow, measured strides.
"So this is where our little runaway bakery girl ended up," Victor mocked, his eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. "Hiding out in a luxury hotel, sucking up to billionaires. Too bad you forgot one tiny detail, Elena."
Victor turned to the two police officers, gesturing theatrically with his hands.
"Officer, that woman right there is a fugitive from justice," Victor announced loudly, pointing a finger straight at my chest. "She skipped bail on an outstanding commercial fraud warrant in Indiana three years ago, and she took ten thousand dollars in stolen business assets with her!"
The two police officers exchanged uneasy glances, stepping forward.
"Ma'am, you're going to need to come with us—" the older officer began, reaching for his cuffs.
Before the officer could finish his sentence, a heavy, shadow-casting figure stepped between them.
Marco Bellandi stood directly in front of the police officer, his dark eyes boring into the cop with a suffocating, terrifying authority that made the officer freeze mid-motion.
"Before you touch her, Officer," Marco said, his voice dropping into a low, deadly purr that echoed off the concrete walls, "you might want to check whose property your warrant is attempting to execute an arrest upon."
Victor laughed nervously, stepping forward. "Hey, listen here, buddy—I don't care who owns this hotel—"
"You should," Marco cut him off without even looking at Victor, his gaze locked entirely on the lead police officer. "Because my legal team drafted the property title for this entire city block. And if you arrest an employee of the Bellandi Grand based on a forged, expired warrant issued out of an Indiana jurisdiction my corporate lawyers already scrubbed two years ago... I will personally ensure your precinct spends the next decade defending a federal civil rights lawsuit."
The officer’s face went pale. He pulled out his radio, his hands suddenly shaking as he punched in a quick verification code.
Victor’s triumphant smirk evaporated, replaced by a sudden, creeping panic as he stared at Marco.
"Who... who the hell are you?" Victor stammered.
May you like
Marco finally turned his head, fixing Victor with a look so cold it could have frozen boiling water.
"I'm the man who owns the ground you're standing on," Marco said softly. "And you have exactly ten seconds to run back out that loading gate before my security team throws you into the Chicago River."
