Page 62 of His Assistant

My men will move him to a safe location in Queens. It’s a narrow brick building with heavy locks, cameras, and men posted at every entrance. Secure enough for one night, or it should be.

Rafe leaves to help with the move. He texts me an hour later to confirm Marco is at the safe house with the head of my security, Sal. Apparently, he’s making it difficult for my men.

“He refuses to stay inside,” Sal tells me over the phone. “Says he isn’t a prisoner.”

“He isn’t a prisoner,” I remind him. “But if he doesn’t trust us, he might end up dead.”

“I told him that.”

“And how did he respond?”

“He told me to go to hell.”

Tomasso, sitting across from me, laughs under his breath.

I glare at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry. “I’m starting to see where Sofia gets it.”

I ignore him and focus on Sal. “Keep him inside.”

“We’re trying.”

“Try harder.”

“If Calderone doesn’t bite on the fake route, he might go for the real one,” Tomasso says darkly. “There are so many variables to consider.”

“He doesn’t have the real one,” I remind him.

“That’s what we’re testing, isn’t it?” he asks.

At seven-thirty, the false route goes live. At seven forty-eight, we have confirmation that Calderone’s men are moving.

Rafe calls from the road, his voice sharp but controlled.

“Two SUVs took the warehouse route.”

“Which version?”

“Security dispatch.”

“Take them,” I say.

“We’re moving now.”

The next few minutes pass through the phone in fragments. Tires against wet pavement. Rafe barking orders. A crash of metal. One gunshot, then another. Tomasso goes still across from me, all his earlier irritation gone. Eventually, Rafe comes back on the line.

“We’ve got them.”

“How many?”

“Four. Two breathing.”

“Names?”

“Working on it.”

“Good.”