Chapter 11
The armored sedan tore through the rain-slicked backroads of the Lombardy countryside, its high beams cutting through the thick midnight fog.
Clara drove with white knuckles, her eyes darting between the winding road and the rearview mirror. Emma was buckled safely in the backseat, fast asleep against the plush blue rabbit, exhausted by the night's terror.
On the passenger seat lay the leather satchel Marco had handed her, along with the brass key stamped *402* and Elena Moretti’s gold wedding band.
Clara glanced at the dashboard clock. *1:15 AM.*
Her mind screamed at her to keep driving. The highway to Switzerland was less than an hour away. With the cash and forged passports Marco provided, she and Emma could vanish across the border before dawn. No more mafia bosses. No more snipers. No more ghosts.
*He went to kill Don Ricci.*
Marco’s words echoed in her ears like a death toll.
Alessandro was walking into an ambush. Ricci had deliberately baited him by mentioning locker 402. Ricci *wanted* Alessandro to come to the central rail terminal.
Clara looked into the rearview mirror at Emma’s sleeping face. Those gray eyes. Alessandro’s eyes. Lorenzo’s eyes.
Julian had given his life—endured radiation sickness, lived a lie in poverty, and died alone—not to steal money, but to protect this little girl. Julian had trusted Alessandro to be the shield Emma would eventually need.
If Alessandro died tonight, Don Ricci’s syndicate would scour Europe until they found Emma. There would be no safety. There would only be running for the rest of their lives.
"Damn it," Clara cursed through her teeth.
She slammed her foot on the brake. The heavy sedan skidded on the wet asphalt, tires screaming, before she spun the wheel violently and executed a tight U-turn across the empty two-lane road.
She hit the gas, heading straight back toward the neon lights of the city center.
She pulled out the burner phone from the glove compartment. There was only one saved number: Marco.
She pressed call. It connected on the first ring.
"Mrs. Bennett? You should be nearing the border," Marco’s voice barked over the static.
"Locker 402 isn't at the central passenger terminal, Marco," Clara said, her voice completely steady now, fueled by adrenaline and clarity.
"What are you talking about?"
"Julian was a logistics specialist," Clara explained rapidly. "Before he left Syracuse, he gave me a postcard of Milan with an old steam engine on the front. He circled the abandoned rail yard at Pier 4 in the industrial district. He told me, 'If you ever need the truth, find where the cargo stops, not where the passengers ride.'"
Silence on the line. Then Marco swore under his breath.
"The old freight depot at Pier 4," Marco said, his engine revving in the background. "That’s Ricci territory. Alessandro took four men to the passenger terminal! He’s walking into an empty station while Ricci is at the docks!"
"I'm ten minutes away from Pier 4," Clara said, pressing the accelerator to the floor.
"Clara, no! Do not go in there alone!" Marco yelled. "Wait for my team!"
"If I wait, Alessandro is dead!" Clara shouted back. "Meet me there!"
May you like
She tossed the phone onto the seat, turned down the darkened industrial corridor flanking the canal, and saw the rusted iron gates of Pier 4 looming in the mist ahead.
***
