Chapter 9 - shadows in the hall
Maria gasped, instantly straightening her apron and stepping away from the bed. “Mr. DeLuca. I was just… making sure the little one was comfortable.”
“You’re dismissed, Maria,” Marco said quietly. His tone was polite, but his eyes never left Elena. “Go check the kitchen inventory. Mr. Moretti wants breakfast prepped for the tactical unit.”
Maria nodded quickly and slipped past Marco, practically running down the corridor.
Marco stepped into the bedroom and closed the heavy oak door behind him with a soft, final thud. He didn't draw a weapon, but he kept both hands casually resting near his jacket pockets.
Elena stayed seated on the edge of the mattress, placing one protective hand over Sofia’s blanket. “Can I help you, Mr. DeLuca?”
Marco walked slowly toward the foot of the bed, his face unreadable under the recessed lighting. “You’re observant, Elena. A little too observant for a twenty-four-year-old girl who scrubs toilets for sixteen dollars an hour.”
Elena didn't flinch. “When you grow up in state custody, staying observant is the only reason you make it to adulthood.”
“Fair enough,” Marco said. He reached into his coat pocket.
Elena’s body went rigid.
Marco didn't pull a gun. He pulled out the crumpled parking stub from the St. Jude Hotel and held it between two fingers.
“You saw this on the glass table,” Marco said, his voice flat. “And I know you saw it, because the second you walked past that table, your breathing changed.”
“You were at the hotel an hour before the baby was dumped,” Elena said, refusing to back down. “And Anthony Moretti’s security guards were on the roof when Sofia was taken. You told Lorenzo his cousin was in Miami.”
Marco stared at her for five agonizing seconds. Then, to Elena’s complete shock, he let out a bitter, exhausted sigh and dropped the parking stub into the wastebasket beside the dresser.
“You think I’m working with Anthony,” Marco said quietly.
“Aren't you?”
“If I was working with Anthony, do you really think you would have made it into that SUV alive tonight?” Marco asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “If I wanted this baby dead, I would have put a bullet in your head in that alley and dropped Sofia right back into the East River. Nobody would have ever known.”
Elena looked at his eyes. There was no murderous rage in them. There was only raw, desperate panic.
“Then why lie to Lorenzo?” she demanded.
“Because Lorenzo is a grieving father who hasn't slept in three years, and the moment he hears Anthony’s name, he will execute his own family without waiting for proof!” Marco whispered fiercely. “And if he does that, the five families will declare open season on the Moretti syndicate before noon. We will be wiped out.”
“So you’re protecting the man who tried to kill Sofia?”
“No,” Marco hissed. “I was at the St. Jude at one in the morning because Viktor called me before he died! He told me Anthony was moving assets out of the country. Viktor went to the hotel to intercept Anthony’s courier, but someone got to Viktor first.”
“The courier,” Elena repeated, her mind racing. “The duffel bags. The blonde woman.”
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“The nanny wasn't smuggling Sofia out,” Marco said, revealing the brutal truth. “She was smuggling Clara Moretti’s private ledgers out of Suite 812. The ledgers that prove Anthony has been laundering cartel money through the shipping docks for five years.”
Before Elena could process the revelation, a muffled thud echoed from the main living room, followed by the sharp, terrifying crack of suppressed gunfire.
