AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As soon as they’re out of view, he leans forward to study my face. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Yes,” I say, but then I amend, “but not from them. I already have what I need.”
“Almost,” he says and holds up a silver chain, the sword charm dangling from his palm.
I’d cuss him out, but I’m too happy to see my old necklace. I lift my hair and let him put it on me. He takes his sweet time and fiddles with it so the sword settles on my sternum.
And all too soon, we’re at an ancient brick warehouse a few blocks away from the docks. I recognize the area. “This is Vesuvi territory.”
“Yes. Stephanos has bolt holes like this all over the city. It’s how he’s survived.” He’s patting his clothes, presumably checking his hidden knives. “He’s inside.”
This is it. The moment I’ve prepared for all my life.
I press the sword into my skin for a second before shrugging out of Victor’s long coat. I take a moment to check my Glock. In the front seat, Joe and Spiro are doing the same.
“Here.” Victor holds up a black vest. I shrug it on, and he makes sure it’s fastened up the front.
“We disabled those cameras,” Spiro tells me, pointing to the surrounding buildings and the silver or black equipment nestled in the eaves. “But he’ll have more inside.”
“Thank you.”
A heaviness settles over me, more than the weight of the vest. Reality descending. I open the car door, and the sky above is so blue, I could cry. The shadows at my feet are dark and deep, and I can see every speck of dust floating in the air between me and the warehouse door.
When I step out of the car, Victor appears at my side. “I’m coming with you.”
“Of course.” He’s made it clear he wants to keep me close. Whether because he loves me or thinks I’m his property, it doesn’t matter.
He pulls on a black ski mask and glides ahead of me. Signaling me to wait, he presses a hand to the heavy steel door. It opens easily, without a sound. Did he come here beforehand and oil the hinges? I wouldn’t be surprised.
Victor leans in, his whisper barely stirring my hair. “He’s fond of booby traps, but there won’t be many here because he hasn’t had the time to set them. He was hiding elsewhere. Recent events flushed him out.”
Recent events. Like Victor killing Bruno and presenting his head to me on a platter. A grisly valentine.
I can’t help it. I glance at Victor with a little grin. He lifts his hone-blond brows and signals me. Come?
In answer, I press a thumb and forefinger together and stalk into the warehouse, gripping my Glock tight. The safety’s off, and it leads the way. The vest Victor gave me lays like a stone on my chest, but I welcome the weight. It keeps my heart from flying from my chest.
But I’m calm and centered as I move deeper into my enemy’s hiding place.
I don’t need luck or fate.
I have Victor.
Once inside, he signals me to go left. There’s a TV buzzing somewhere off to the right, but I trust him. A quick glance at the concrete floor shows faint footprints in the dust and a glint of steel wire.
Booby trap number one.
We round a huge shipping container, and I stop when he signals me to.
He points at a camera overhead. We back up and find a different way through the stacked crates and past a few big machines folded up like the carcasses of giant dead insects. Victor points out more cameras, another trip wire—booby trap number two—and a patch of disturbed dust that seems to cover a metal plate of some sort. Every step of the way, he uses the hand signals he taught me during my captivity to guide me safely forward. We sidle carefully past booby trap number three, all while an announcer on TV narrates a baseball game.
We’ve taken care not to kick up too much dust, but it hangs thick in the air. I breathe through my mouth, willing myself not to sneeze.
The TV noise is coming from a small room up ahead. Once an overseer’s office, the grimy windows mute the yellow light, but it glows like a beacon of light and sound in the forgotten space. There’s a set of footprints leading from it to the back of the warehouse, to an exit or bathroom or both. Victor and I creep around until we’re in front of the door. Through it, we have a straight line of sight into the cramped room. There’s a shelf with a microwave on top and a mini fridge below. Takeout containers and potato chip bags litter the floor. Just out of sight, on a sagging couch, Stephanos lounges in ratty slippers.
He’s just sitting there in his sweatpants, watching TV and eating chips. Living his life long after he snuffed my mother’s out.
Victor, slowly so I can see him, draws a long knife. A good throwing knife. He mimes tossing it at one of the booby traps behind us. The noise will startle Stephanos and drive him out of his nest.
