Page 69 of The Assassin's Captive
It's not a question. Emilio's pale eyes find mine across the smoke-filled room, and I see cold calculation there. Not concern for my safety but rather strategic assessment of an asset under threat.
Lorenzo produces a key and unlocks the unmarked door. Beyond it lies a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.
"Safe room," he explains tersely. "Reinforced walls, independent ventilation, communication equipment."
Another explosion rocks the building, closer this time. Dust falls from the ceiling, and several of the men curse loudly.
"Go." Lorenzo pushes me toward the staircase. "I'll secure the entry point."
"What about?—"
"Go."
I descend into darkness, my heels echoing off concrete steps. Behind me, I hear the heavy steel door slam shut and multiple locks engaging. The sound of gunfire becomes distant, muffled by layers of reinforced concrete.
The safe room is small but well-equipped. Emergency lighting illuminates concrete walls lined with communicationequipment, monitors showing security feeds from around the club, and a small cache of weapons. A narrow bench runs along one wall, and a steel cabinet marked with medical symbols suggests first aid supplies.
Through the monitors, I can see the battle raging above. Men in tactical gear move with professional coordination, advancing on the club from multiple directions. Costa's defenders are outnumbered but better positioned, using the building's architecture to their advantage.
On one screen, I watch a figure in black gear climb through a shattered window. He makes it three steps before Lorenzo appears behind him, moving with lethal grace. The knife strike is quick, efficient, almost casual. The attacker drops without a sound.
Two more figures round the corner, weapons raised. Lorenzo doesn't hesitate. His gun fires twice, center mass, and both men collapse. He's already moving before their bodies hit the ground, flowing like water through the smoke-filled corridors.
This is who he really is. Not the man who touched my face with gentle hands moments ago. Not the man who makes coffee in the mornings and reads while I work. This is the assassin. The Sin Eater. Rome's most feared killer.
And he's killing people to protect me.
Another monitor shows the street outside. Bodies lie motionless on the cobblestones—some in tactical gear, some in the dark suits of Costa's men. A van burns near the parking garage entrance, black smoke billowing into the night sky.
The gunfire begins to slow, sporadic bursts instead of constant exchange. Either the attackers are running out of ammunition or they're running out of men.
On the monitor showing the main room of the club, I see Emilio coordinating his remaining men. He moves with calmauthority despite the chaos, directing defensive positions and evacuation routes. This isn't his first war.
A new voice crackles over the communication system. "Perimeter secure. Five hostiles down. No friendly casualties."
Lorenzo's voice responds immediately. "Confirmed. Area clear."
"Sweep and secure. Full protocols."
"Copy."
The fighting is over.
I remain in the safe room for another ten minutes, watching the monitors as Costa's men methodically search the area. Bodies are moved, evidence is collected, witnesses are questioned. The efficiency is disturbing. This organization has clearly dealt with similar attacks before.
When the steel door finally opens, Lorenzo appears at the top of the stairs. He's removed his jacket, and I can see blood on his white shirt—not his own, judging by his movements.
"It's over," he says simply.
I climb the stairs on unsteady legs, my adrenaline finally beginning to fade. The main room of the club looks like a war zone. Overturned furniture, shattered glass, bullet holes in the walls. The smells of gunpowder and blood hang heavily in the air.
"How many?" I ask.
"Five attackers dead, but it wasn't all of them." Lorenzo's expression is grim. "This was just the opening move."
Emilio appears from behind the damaged bar, straightening his tie calmly. His pale eyes assess me clinically, checking for injuries or signs of breakdown.
"They know where you are now," he says. "They know about your connection to our family. And they're willing to start a war to eliminate you."
