Chapter 4 - LOCK THE CABIN
The black metal disc rested in the center of Vincent’s palm, tiny against his calloused skin and dark tattoos. It was deceptively light, yet felt unnatural—a piece of cold, deliberate technology placed where it had no right to be.
Vincent didn't squeeze it. He stared at it, his mind working with terrifying speed, analyzing the weight, the texture, and the position in which it had been hidden. It hadn't fallen into the blanket by accident. It had been intentionally sewn or tucked into the deep inner seam near the infant's ribs, hidden beneath three layers of folded cashmere where no casual glance would ever detect it.
Vincent stood up slowly.
He did not let go of Baby Luca, who was now breathing softly, his tiny head resting against his father’s broad shoulder, his eyes heavy with sudden, overwhelming exhaustion. Vincent held the child securely against his chest with his left arm, while his right hand remained open, displaying the black disc.
His towering presence immediately filled the cabin aisle.
"Lock the cabin," Vincent commanded.
The order was executed before the last word had even faded into the air.
Marco turned instantly, grabbing the heavy navy velvet curtain that separated first class from the passenger aisle. He pulled it shut with a harsh, sliding whistle of metal rings on the rod, before clicking a heavy steel security lock into place at the floor rail, sealing the doorway entirely.
At the far end, near the cockpit, the second bodyguard moved with equal speed, sliding the galley door shut and standing directly in front of the emergency exit handle, his hand tucked firmly inside his dark suit jacket.
The two flight attendants who had been standing near the beverage cart froze completely. The younger one let out a tiny gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she backed up against the polished wood trim of the galley bulkhead.
"Nobody moves," Marco announced, his voice booming through the enclosed luxury space. "Nobody touches a phone, nobody touches a button."
The air in first class transformed instantly. The luxury jet was no longer a commercial flight; it was a high-altitude vault controlled entirely by Vincent Moretti.
Vincent walked two slow paces down the carpeted aisle, his black leather shoes sinking soundlessly into the pile. He stopped directly beneath the overhead recessed lights, bringing the black disc into the harsh beam.
He turned it over with his thumb. There were no serial numbers. No markings. No visible seams. It was a solid, cold piece of black engineering, designed to be invisible, designed to hurt, or designed to do something far worse at thirty-five thousand feet.
Vincent slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto his three bodyguards one by one. His voice dropped into a terrifyingly quiet whisper that seemed to echo off the wood paneling.
"Who touched my son before boarding?"
The three bodyguards exchanged swift, tense looks. The air grew thick with a sudden, suffocating panic that even these hardened men could not hide.
"Boss," Marco stammered, his usual iron composure fracturing under Vincent’s glare. "We held the perimeter at the private terminal in Teterboro. Nobody got within ten feet of the stroller. We checked the bags, we checked the nurse—"
"The nurse didn't come on the plane," Vincent interrupted, his voice dropping an octave lower, cold enough to freeze blood. "So who dressed him?"
Marco swallowed hard, his throat making a dry, clicking sound. "The... the driver brought the diaper bag from the SUV. Frankie carried the baby across the tarmac."
Frankie—the third bodyguard standing near the galley—went completely pale. His hands twitched at his sides, his eyes widening in pure horror as Vincent’s gaze slowly drifted toward him.
"Boss, I swear to God on my mother's grave," Frankie rasped, taking a involuntary half-step back against the bulkhead. "I carried him from the car to the seat. I didn't open the blanket! I didn't touch his clothes!"
Vincent didn't answer immediately. He stared at Frankie with a dead, unblinking intensity that made the large man look as though he wanted to collapse onto the floor.
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Then, slowly, Vincent turned his head away from his men.
He looked down at the small ten-year-old girl standing quietly in the center of his locked cabin.
