Chapter 19 - The Teterboro Trap
Donato lowered the gun, his chest heaving. "Show me the manifest."
I turned the phone toward him.
On the screen was a live internal feed from the Port Newark logistics terminal, alongside a verified copy of an encrypted tip sent to the Department of Homeland Security, signed with the digital encryption key belonging to Victoria's Swiss shell company.
She hadn't just double-crossed me. She had planned to incinerate both the Morrisons and the Rossi family in a single, catastrophic stroke, leaving herself with fifty million dollars in untraceable cash and full custody of the Rossi heir.
Donato pulled out his private radio, his voice barking commands in rapid, vicious Sicilian. Within seconds, his subordinate confirmed that federal agents were already establishing checkpoints around Berth 24.
"Where is she?" Donato demanded, his eyes bloodshot with fury.
"Teterboro Airport, Hangar 4," I answered without hesitation. "Her private Gulfstream is scheduled for wheels-up at 3:30 PM. Destination: Panama City. If you leave right now, you might catch her before she clears American airspace."
Donato stared at me for five long seconds. He wasn't looking at a helpless victim anymore. He was looking at a woman who had calculated five moves ahead while holding a crying child on a staircase.
"Release the old man," Donato ordered his associate through the basement door.
Two minutes later, Arthur stumbled into the foyer, clutching his bruised head, assisted by Liam. He was alive, shaken, but breathing.
Donato pocketed his weapon and offered a sharp, curt bow. "You are an exceptional adversary, signora. If my brother had married a woman with half your spine, our family would not be cleaning up this gutter."
"Get out of my house," I replied, standing like a fortress in the center of the room. "And take your wars back to Europe."
Donato turned and vanished through the front entrance, his convoy tearing down the driveway with screeching tires, racing toward the New Jersey border.
Liam rushed over, wrapping his arms around me, burying his face in my hair as his body trembled with released tension. "It's over. My God, Sarah, you did it."
"Not yet," I whispered, looking down at my phone.
A new notification flashed on the screen. An incoming call from an unknown New York area code.
I swiped the screen. "Speak."
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"Sarah?" A woman’s panicked, desperate voice screamed over the roaring wind of jet engines. "Sarah, please! You have to call off the Port Authority! The federal marshals just blocked the runway! Donato’s men are breaching the hangar gates!"
It was Victoria.
