Chapter 2 - Echoes in the Hallway
The scream cut through the heavy air of the study like a razor blade.
My hand pulled back from the intercom instantly. Beside me, Evelyn’s triumphant smirk vanished, replaced by genuine confusion, while Norah gasped, dropping her clipboard onto the rug with a sharp clatter.
Before any of us could move toward the door, it burst open with a resounding crash.
Carmine stood in the threshold, his dark overcoat dusted with the cold rain of the courtyard, his hand resting tightly on the butt of his holster. Behind him, two of my senior security detail were dragging a young man in a soaked delivery uniform by his collar. The man’s face was bruised, his breathing frantic, and his eyes wild with terror.
“Boss,” Carmine barked, ignoring Evelyn and Norah completely as he stepped into the room. “We caught this one trying to scale the rear perimeter fence behind the staff quarters. He wasn’t carrying a package. He was carrying a burner phone and a flash drive.”
I looked at the terrified courier, then back to Carmine. “Who sent him?”
“He didn't need to answer, boss,” Carmine said grimly, shoving the courier forward so he stumbled onto his knees near the desk. “A few encouraging words in the courtyard loosened his tongue. He’s a courier for the municipal logistics office—the same department tied to Victor Rossi’s shell companies.”
The name hit the room like a physical blow.
Rossi. The city councilman and underworld rival who had tried to eliminate me through contaminated medical supplies and rigged port contracts just weeks ago.
“I didn't know!” the courier sobbed, pressing his hands against the Persian rug as he looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I swear to God, Mr. Moretti! I was just paid five hundred dollars to drop off an envelope at the staff entrance! I didn't know it was connected to any war!”
“What envelope?” I demanded, stepping over to tower above him.
The courier fumbled frantically with his jacket pocket, pulling out a sealed, heavy brown envelope stamped with a municipal seal and sliding it across the floor toward my shoes.
I knelt down, picked it up, and tore the flap open.
Inside wasn't a corporate document or a threat. It was a single, glossy photograph taken not ten minutes ago through the kitchen window.
The photo showed Lily—the four-year-old girl in her white orthopedic brace—sitting on the kitchen floor near the scratched marble threshold, holding her stuffed rabbit. Standing directly behind her in the frame was Anna, looking down with an expression of pure, unadulterated terror, while a gloved hand rested heavily on Anna’s shoulder.
And scrawled across the back of the photograph in neat, block letters were six words:
Tell the boss to check downstairs.
My blood ran instantly cold. I looked up from the photograph, my gaze locking onto Evelyn, who had gone completely pale, her carefully constructed composure finally shattering into jagged pieces.
“Evelyn,” I said, my voice dropping into a register so quiet and lethal that even Carmine took an instinctive half-step back. “What is in the basement under the staff kitchen?”
Evelyn swallowed hard, her throat dry, her lips parting as she tried to speak, but no words came out.
May you like
Carmine didn't wait for her permission. He turned to the guards holding the courier. “Secure her. And bring the keys to the sub-level utility cellar.”
---
