Chapter 32 The Sting
The next four days passed like a carefully rehearsed performance.
Alessia met with Cormac twice more. Each time, she fed him pieces of information—some true, most false—all carefully crafted to make him feel confident, in control.
She offered him details about Liam's security protocols. Names of soldiers who appeared loyal but were actually planted. Financial vulnerabilities that didn’t exist.
And then there was the big one: a major cash movement, scheduled for Saturday night.
“Three million,” Alessia said in a parking garage during their third meeting. Her voice was calm, but her hands shook slightly as she handed him a map. “From the cartel deal. Moving from a temporary holding location to a secure vault. Minimal security. Liam doesn’t want attention.”
Cormac’s eyes gleamed, sharp and predatory. “When exactly?”
“Saturday. 11 PM. Through the industrial district near the docks.” She pointed to the map—carefully altered with false routes and timings. “Intercept it, and you have leverage. Proof that Liam is mismanaging the family assets. The Council won’t be able to ignore it.”
He studied it, slow, deliberate.
“And you’re certain about this information?”
“My collective verified it,” she said, forcing her voice steady. “They’ve been monitoring the O’Sullivan operations for weeks. This is your chance. Take the money, expose Liam’s incompetence, and the family will turn against him.”
“And where will you be?” he asked, a slight suspicion in his tone.
“At home. Penthouse. Liam doesn’t take me on operations. I’m just the trophy wife.” Bitterness laced her words. “He doesn’t trust me more than you do.”
Cormac smiled. “Smart man.”
And he fell for it.
Saturday came too fast.
Alessia spent the day in meticulous preparation—checking her weapon, a small handgun Liam had hidden in an ankle holster. Phone fully charged, tracking app active. Every movement calculated. Every contingency considered.
Liam moved in and out of the penthouse, tense, focused, coordinating his people like a general preparing for war.
At 7 PM, he found her in the kitchen.
“Last chance to back out,” he said quietly.
“I’m not backing out.”
“Cormac is bringing at least ten men. Heavily armed. This will get violent.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer, framing her face with his hands. “Stay behind cover. Don’t take unnecessary risks. And if anything goes wrong—if you even feel unsafe—you run. You don’t try to be a hero.”
“Same goes for you,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed her cheek, soft, almost vulnerable. “I’m serious, Alessia. I can replace money. Soldiers. Not you.”
Her chest tightened. Words heavier than any threat or promise.
“I’ll be careful,” she promised.
He kissed her forehead—a gesture both protective and desperate. “Let’s end this.”
The industrial district was a tangle of warehouses, shipping containers, and loading docks—a perfect stage for an ambush.
Alessia rode in the lead SUV with Liam, scanning the streets. Behind them, three more vehicles carried O’Sullivan soldiers. Somewhere in the shadows, Don Scarpetti’s men were poised, waiting.
It was Liam’s masterstroke—directly involving Salvatore, showing him the risk Cormac posed, giving him a chance to act. Quietly, efficiently.
Positions were taken, weapons checked.
“Cormac should be arriving in ten minutes,” Liam said into his radio.
Alessia’s stomach coiled with tension. The “money transport” was a decoy—an armored truck moving slowly, deliberately, through the predetermined route. Hidden soldiers lined rooftops, warehouses, every angle covered.
“Visual on Cormac’s vehicles,” came a voice over the radio. “Three cars, approaching from the north.”
Liam’s jaw tightened. “Hold positions. Let them commit.”
Through the tinted window, Alessia saw Cormac’s convoy speeding in. The trap was ready.
They moved aggressively, boxing in the armored truck. Men poured out, weapons raised.
“Now,” Liam’s voice boomed.
The ambush sprang to life. Lights flooded the area. Soldiers emerged from cover, weapons trained.
Cormac froze, fury painted on his face—but then he smiled. Cold, cruel, unafraid.
And he pulled his weapon.
“Take them!” he roared.
Chaos erupted. Gunfire cracked the night, echoing off metal and concrete. Glass shattered. Men fell.
Alessia dove from the SUV, pressing against the engine block as bullets whizzed past. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Liam was beside her, controlled bursts, calculated, deadly.
“Stay down!” he shouted, but her training took over.
She spotted a man trying to flank them, aimed, fired twice. He dropped.
The battle was vicious but swift. Cormac’s men were outnumbered two to one. Within minutes, most were dead or surrendering.
Cormac, pinned behind his car, seethed. Three of his men lay lifeless around him.
“It’s over, Cormac! Surrender!” Liam’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Go to hell!”
Gunfire continued, desperate now.
Alessia edged along the perimeter, low, circling toward Cormac. She saw him first. He was reloading, rage contorting his features.
“Drop it,” she called, weapon trained.
He spun, eyes locking on hers. “You,” he spat. “You lying little whore.”
“Drop it,” she repeated.
Instead, he lunged. Faster than she anticipated. His hand twisted her wrist, forcing her gun away. Another hand drew a long serrated knife.
He had her. Arm around her throat. Knife pressed to her neck. Her body a shield.
“Liam!” he roared. “Call off your men or I open her throat!”
Silence. Terrible, suffocating.
Alessia felt the edge bite, cold and unforgiving. Not cutting… yet.
Liam emerged, weapon raised, face tense, controlled terror in his eyes.
“Let her go, Cormac.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, nephew.” Hot breath against her ear. “She’s my ticket. Tell your men to stand down. Tell the Scarpettis to back off. Or I’ll paint this dock with her blood.”
“You do that, you die anyway.”
“Then we all die together. What’s it going to be? Pride or your wife?”
Liam’s eyes met hers—calculation, desperation, fear.
She gave a tiny shake of her head. Don’t back down. Don’t let him win.
“You think he loves you, little girl?” Cormac hissed. Loud enough for everyone. “Special? You’re a pawn. A tool. He’ll use you and throw you away, just like his father.”
“That’s not true,” Liam’s voice strained.
“Isn’t it?” Cormac laughed, bitter. “Tell her, Liam. Collateral. The cartel. If you default, she’s theirs. That’s her value.”
Alessia’s blood ran cold.
“Shut up,” Liam growled.
“He promised you,” Cormac said to Alessia, knife pressing harder. Blood trickled. “Collateral. His beautiful wife. That’s your worth.”
“Is it true?” she whispered.
“I was never going to default,” Liam said, desperation raw. “It was formal. I had the money. Never a real risk.”
“But you put her up anyway,” Cormac finished, triumphant. “Because that’s what we do. We use people. Trade them. And you, princess—you’re just a commodity.”
Alessia’s mind spun. Betrayal stung deeper than the knife’s edge. Liam… had used her as leverage.
“Now,” Cormac said, voice sharp and cold, businesslike, “you let me leave with her. I get to my car, then I release her. Unharmed.”
“You’ll kill her once you’re clear,” Liam spat.
“Probably.” Cormac shrugged. “But better odds than she has now. Nephew, do you care about her enough to let me go? Or is she just collateral?”