Chapter 7 - The Trap in the Vineyard
The prediction proved true, but Salva Moretti was not going to go down alone.
In February, the Marcone family’s operations in Queens were raided by a joint task force. Sixty-two men were indicted in a single morning. Salva, tipped off by a crooked clerk, managed to escape the net before the handcuffs clicked. He went to ground, and when a rat is cornered, it looks for the thing the hunter loves most.
It happened during a weekend trip to the DeLuca estate in the North Fork of Long Island—a sprawling vineyard surrounded by high stone walls and private security. Matteo had taken Camryn and Leo there to escape the gray slush of the city for a few days.
The afternoon was bright but cold. Camryn was in the kitchen of the old farmhouse, preparing hot chocolate, while Leo played with a wooden tractor on the porch under the watchful eye of two guards.
A sudden, sharp pop echoed from the driveway.
It didn't sound like a gun—it sounded like a car backfiring. But Camryn had lived in Matteo’s house long enough to know the difference.
"Leo!" she screamed, dropping the milk pan and rushing toward the door.
Before she reached the threshold, the glass of the kitchen window shattered inward. A man in a heavy black mask stepped through, a silver pistol raised. It was Salva. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes stained with mud and sweat. He looked like a man who had already accepted his own death.
"Where is he?" Salva roared, his hand shaking as he pointed the gun at Camryn’s chest. "Where’s the Don’s little prize?"
Camryn didn't run. She stood between Salva and the door leading to the porch where Leo was. "He’s not here," she said, her voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm register she used when the world went mad. "He’s with his father in the city. You're alone, Salva."
"Liars!" Salva lunged forward, grabbing her by the hair.
Camryn didn't scream. She reached down, her fingers finding the heavy iron skillet she had been using for breakfast, and swung it with every ounce of strength her five-foot-four frame possessed. The metal caught Salva on the temple with a sickening thud. He staggered back, his gun firing once into the ceiling, the plaster raining down like snow.
Before he could recover, the back door was kicked off its hinges.
Matteo entered like a storm. He didn't use a gun. He tackled Salva to the floor, his hands finding the man’s throat with the ancient, primal fury of a father whose nest had been violated. The guards poured in behind him, but they didn't interfere. Nobody touched the Don when he was like this.
"Matteo, stop!" Camryn cried, rushing to his side. She grabbed his arm, her small fingers dug into his biceps. "Leo is safe! He’s in the pantry! I locked him in before I came back! Don't do this in front of him!"
Matteo’s hands froze around Salva’s neck. The underboss was turning blue, his eyes rolling back. Matteo looked up at Camryn, his face covered in plaster dust and sweat, his breathing a harsh, ragged rattle.
"He touched you," Matteo growled, his voice barely human.
"I’m fine," she said, her voice softening, her hand moving to his cheek. "I’m fine. But Leo needs his father. Not a killer. Let the police have him, Matteo. Let the law finish it."
May you like
Matteo stared at her for three long seconds. The monsters of his past were screaming for blood, but the girl in front of him—the maid who had knelt before his broken son—was asking for something harder. She was asking for peace.
Slowly, his fingers uncurled. He stood up, shaking Salva off like mud from his boots. "Take him," he told the guards. "Call the state police. Tell them we found a trespasser."
