Page 44 of The Assassin's Captive
Someone is talking. Someone with access to our movements, our plans, our location. The leak could be inside Costa's organization or it could be deeper—law enforcement, courthouse administration, even the paralegals who work on her team. We paid good money to make her disappearance go unnoticed, but someone still noticed.
Either way, the game has changed. Serena isn't safe here anymore, and hiding her won't be enough. If the families want Costa's daughter, they'll have to go through me to get her.
I close the furnace door and check the security monitors one final time. The cameras show empty grounds, quiet streets, normal shadows. But normal is an illusion now.
Tomorrow, I'll contact Victor and arrange for additional security. I'll reach out to my sources inside the other families and find out how far the information has spread. I'll start making the calls necessary to acquire clean papers and safe transport for Leara once we have Serena's evidence files.
But tonight, I sit in my chair and watch the monitors, my Glock within easy reach, and count the hours until dawn brings new threats to my door.
20
SERENA
Ifind Lorenzo on the rooftop terrace at two in the morning, standing motionless against the stone railing. Rome spreads out below us in pools of amber light, the ancient city breathing in its sleep. The night air carries the scent of rain moving in, but Lorenzo's posture is locked in place, like he's lost in thought, not moving. The last time I saw a man with that look was a serial killer I prosecuted as he stood waiting for his sentencing.
He's changed clothes since I last saw him. The black shirt is crisp, unmarked, but his shoulders carry a rigidity that wasn't there before. His hands rest on the railing, knuckles scarred and steady. Whatever happened tonight, he returned with blood on his conscience.
I don't ask. He wouldn't tell me, and I'm not sure I want to know.
The silence between us has evolved from hostility to understanding. We're both trapped in this situation, both pawns in Emilio Costa's game. The difference is Lorenzo chose his cage years ago while mine was built around me without warning.
"Couldn't sleep either?" I step beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford right now." His voice carries a growl of frustration but it's soft around the edges, like he doesn't want to be that way with me and he's restraining himself. "Not with what's coming."
"What's coming?"
Lorenzo turns to face me, and the moonlight reveals the exhaustion etched around his eyes. "The truth you've been avoiding. Someone inside the courts is leaking information about your identity. Court clerks, administrators, maybe even judges. The other families know who you are."
My stomach drops. "How many?"
"Three confirmed. Probably more by morning." He runs a hand through his hair. "They're positioning themselves to take you before Costa can consolidate his advantage."
"Take me how?"
"Kidnapping. Ransom. Political leverage. Or they'll kill you to deny Costa the benefit of having cleaned up his mess while letting their rotting shit stink up the town." His gaze holds mine. "I don't know how long I can keep us ahead of it."
The old Serena would have argued, demanded a plan, insisted there had to be a legal solution. The woman standing on this terrace at two a.m. knows better. The law can't protect me from this. The system I've devoted my career to building is compromised, infiltrated, useless against the reality of my bloodline.
I move closer, drawn by the steady presence he represents in a world that's tilted off its axis. "How long do we have?"
"Days. Maybe less." His jaw tightens. "They'll move fast once they decide on a strategy."
The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving behind exhaustion and the strange comfort of his proximity. I've spenttwo weeks raging against this situation, trying to find escape routes and legal loopholes. But there are none. This is my reality now.
I reach out and touch his arm, feeling the muscle tense under my fingers. He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't welcome the contact either.
"You're different tonight," I say. "More distant."
"Tonight reminded me what I do for a living." His voice is flat, professional. "What I am."
"And what are you?"
He looks at me with something close to pity. "A killer, Serena. A man who puts bullets in people's heads and sleeps soundly afterward."
I study his face in the moonlight, searching for the man who held me against the shower wall, who promised I wouldn't die, who kissed me with desperate hunger. "You're more than that."
"Am I?" His laugh is bitter. "Two hours ago, I killed two men in an alley. Clean shots, efficient execution. I burned their blood off my clothes and went back to watching you sleep."
