Chapter 3 - Dinner and Champagne
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At 8:15 p.m., the atmosphere inside the private dining room at Le Cirque was soft, golden, and serene. Jazz played softly through hidden speakers as a waiter poured a vintage 2012 Cabernet Sauvignon into Matteo Moretti’s glass.
Matteo sat across from two city councilmen, discussing zoning permits for a new port development in Brooklyn. He smiled charmingly, completely at ease, cutting into a medium-rare filet mignon.
"To progress," Councilman Miller said, raising his glass. "And to fruitful partnerships, Matteo."
"To partnerships," Matteo replied smoothly, taking a slow sip.
His personal phone vibrated silently against his thigh. He glanced down. It was a text from Enzo confirming he was waiting outside. Matteo deleted the notification without opening it. In his mind, the situation at the penthouse was handled. Elena would be sedated at the private clinic, the doctors would write off her injuries as a tragic household accident, and by tomorrow, she would be back under his control.
He felt no remorse. In Matteo’s world, obedience was non-negotiable. Elena had crossed line after line lately, acting distant, asking too many questions about his father’s offshore accounts. She needed to remember who owned her.
Meanwhile, three miles downtown at Bellevue Hospital, a trauma surgeon stepped out of the operating room, pulling off his sterile gloves.
"How is she?" the nurse asked anxiously.
"It’s a miracle," the surgeon breathed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "She has a skull fracture, three cracked ribs, and severe internal trauma. But the fetus has a strong, stubborn heartbeat. She’s fighting."
"Did the husband show up?"
"No," the doctor replied, looking at the clock on the wall. "Not a word from him."
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The clock read 11:45 p.m.
In fifteen minutes, the quiet routine of the emergency room would remain unchanged, but far away in a hidden digital vault, a silent trigger was about to trip.
