Page 43 of The Assassin's Captive
"Can you get us inside?"
"Us?" His eyebrows rise and he stiffens.
"I don't trust you to work alone. Too much room for error." I check the mouth of the alley. Still empty, but that won't last. "How many cameras?"
"Three in the main lobby, two in the evidence corridor. But I know the blind spots."
"Good. We go in through?—"
Movement catches my eye. Two figures at the alley's entrance, silhouettes against the streetlight behind them. They're moving like they don't want to be seen, not with the casual gait of late-night pedestrians.
"Get down." I grab Laera's shoulder and shove him behind a dumpster.
The men advance into the alley. Moonlight glints off metal in their hands—not knives, but guns—which means they know who we are and what we're doing here. Either Laera led them here or they followed me, which means it's possible someone isattempting to get to my house right now too. Now I'm glad that old nosy cop lives next door.
"Cristiano Laera." The voice that calls out is accented with the harsh edges of Naples' Italian. It's definitely the Torriani crew. "Come out. We want to talk."
Laera's breathing quickens beside me. His fear stinks worse than the garbage.
"About what?" I call back, keeping my voice steady while my hand finds the Beretta's grip.
"About information that doesn't belong to you." The second man moves to the left, trying to flank us. "About conversations that need to end."
They know about the meeting. Someone leaked our location, or they've been watching Laera longer than he realized. Either way, this ends one way.
I draw the Beretta in one smooth motion and put two rounds center mass into the first gunman before he can raise his weapon. The suppressor keeps the noise down to sharp cracks that echo briefly off the alley walls.
The second man swings his gun toward me, but I'm already moving. Three steps to the right, two more rounds. He drops next to his partner, blood pooling dark on the wet cobblestones.
The entire engagement takes less than ten seconds.
"Madonna santissima," Laera whispers, staring at the bodies. "You killed them."
"They came here to kill us." I check both men for identification. No wallets, no papers, but the tattoos on their hands confirm what I already knew. Torriani soldiers, probably sent to clean up loose ends.
"What do we do now?"
"Now you disappear." I wipe down the shell casings and pocket them. "Go home, pack light, get out of Rome tonight.Don't contact anyone, don't use credit cards, don't make phone calls."
"But the courthouse?—"
"Plans will go forward, but we have to do it clean." I scan the alley one more time. No witnesses, no cameras, but the bodies won't stay hidden long. "I'll get in touch."
"What about my money? My papers?"
I pull out a burner phone and scroll to a contact. "Check your account tomorrow. The documentation will be ready by Thursday, and when we meet, I'll make sure you're covered." I meet his terrified eyes. "But if you're still in Rome by sunrise, I can't guarantee your safety. Get out until I contact you."
Laera nods frantically and hurries toward the alley's mouth, leaving me alone with two corpses and the bitter taste of escalation.
I drag the bodies deeper into the shadows and check my watch again. 11:58 p.m. The cleanup crew Costa keeps on retainer won't be available until morning, but these men will be missed by their handlers within hours.
If they come looking and find this mess, the city won't wait to erupt into bloodshed until Serena is captured. It'll detonate like homemade napalm and everyone involved will go up in flames. Myself included.
Serena is asleep when I get home and check on her. She lies curled on her side in the bed with one hand stretched out across my pillow like she's waiting for me. For a moment, I allow myself to remember the weight of her in my arms, the taste of her mouth, the way she says my name when she's in the throes of pleasure.
But when I think of those men bleeding out in the ally, it snaps me back to reality. The other families aren't waiting for Costa to make his move. They're positioning themselves to takeSerena, use her, or eliminate her before she becomes a bigger threat. The window for keeping her hidden has closed.
I change into some shorts and a T-shirt then drop my contaminated clothes into the furnace in the basement and watch them burn. Orange flames consume the evidence, reducing cotton and blood to ash. But fire can't burn away what tonight revealed.
