Chapter 13 - cornered truths
The air inside the van turned to ice.
“Turn this van around!” Marco screamed at the driver, banging his fist against the partition. “Turn it around right now!”
“No!” Lorenzo roared, his voice shaking the metal frame of the vehicle.
Marco stared at him in disbelief. “Boss! Sofia is gone! Someone just walked out of your penthouse with your daughter!”
“They didn't walk out to hide in the street, Marco!” Lorenzo shouted, his eyes blazing with fury. “They used Clara’s clearance because they need Clara’s personal authorization keys! And where are the physical decryption keys for Clara’s offshore accounts kept?!”
Elena looked up, her breath catching in her throat. “Suite 812. The private safe inside the St. Jude.”
Lorenzo grabbed Marco by the lapel, hauling him forward until their faces were inches apart. “Anthony doesn't have the codes to drain the family trust. That’s why he couldn't leave for Teterboro yet. He was waiting for the keys! Whoever took Sofia just delivered the final piece of the puzzle straight to Anthony’s hands!”
Lorenzo shoved Marco back into his seat and slammed his hand against the partition. “Driver! Step on it! We take the St. Jude now!”
Ten minutes later, the unmarked van screeched to a halt in the blind alley behind the hotel’s commercial laundry dock—the exact same alley where Elena had pulled Sofia from the dumpster five hours earlier.
Elena led the way. She slipped her brass key into the rusted lock of the basement service hatch, twisting it until the tumblers clicked. The heavy iron door swung open with a muted squeak.
Lorenzo and Marco moved behind her with lethal speed, suppressed weapons drawn, scanning every shadow. The basement was dimly lit by flickering fluorescent tubes, smelling of detergent, damp concrete, and steam.
“The private service lift to the eighth floor is around this corner,” Elena whispered, staying low. “It requires an analog override from the maintenance room. If I flip the breaker, it bypasses the floor security panel.”
“Do it,” Lorenzo ordered.
Elena darted into the small maintenance closet, pulled the secondary circuit lever, and the elevator light flickered green.
The three of them stepped inside the cramped metal box. Lorenzo pressed the button for the eighth floor. The cables groaned as the lift began its slow, steady ascent.
As the elevator passed the sixth floor, Lorenzo reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a small, heavy silver revolver. He handed it to Elena.
“You know how to use this?” Lorenzo asked quietly.
Elena took the weapon. The metal was cold and heavy in her hand. “Point and pull. Foster care taught me that much.”
“Stay behind me,” Lorenzo said. “When these doors open, Anthony dies. No questions. No negotiations.”
The elevator slowed. The indicator light hit *8*.
*Ding.*
The doors slid open.
The eighth-floor hallway was lined with plush burgundy carpet and gold-framed mirrors. Standing in front of the double doors of Suite 812 were two men in black tactical vests bearing the double-shield insignia of Apex Logistics.
Before the guards could even raise their rifles, Lorenzo and Marco fired twice each.
The suppressed shots sounded like heavy coughs. Both guards collapsed onto the carpet without a sound.
Lorenzo kicked the double doors of Suite 812 open with a deafening crash.
Inside the opulent, marble-lined penthouse suite, Anthony Moretti stood beside an open floor safe, holding an aluminum flight case stuffed with bearer bonds and passport documents.
Sitting on the silk sofa across from him, holding baby Sofia wrapped in a dark cashmere blanket, was a tall, elegant woman with sharp features, dark hair swept into an immaculate chignon, and cold, calculating gray eyes.
Around the woman’s wrist was a matching platinum bracelet shaped like a roaring lion.
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Lorenzo froze in the doorway, his weapon lowering an inch as the color completely drained from his face.
“Clara…?” Lorenzo breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
