Chapter 25: The Ghost in the Rafters
The black Mercedes was waiting at the curb, its engine idling like a low, mechanical growl. The driver held the door open, his face an unreadable mask. I looked at the silver key in my hand—the weight of my freedom.
I got into the car. I watched the penthouse disappear into the Milanese fog. I could have gone to the airport. I could have been in Paris by lunch.
"Stop the car," I said.
"Sir said—"
"I don't care what he said. Stop the car or I'll jump out while it's moving."
The driver pulled over. I didn't run for the station. I ran for the shadows. Kyle was heading to the San Lorenzo columns—a place of ruins and open spaces. He thought he was the hunter, but I had seen the ledger in his safe. I knew Moretti's patterns. This wasn't a meeting; it was an execution.
I didn't take the main entrance. I found a construction scaffold, my boots silent on the cold metal as I climbed. I moved through the upper rafters of the derelict gallery overlooking the square.
Below, Kyle was standing alone in the center of the stone pillars. He looked magnificent and utterly foolish. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his chin tilted up in that signature Vanguard arrogance, waiting for a man who didn't play by the rules of business.
I scanned the rooftops. There.
A flash of matte black metal tucked behind a chimney stack across the piazza. A sniper. Moretti wasn't coming to talk; he was coming to collect.
I didn't have a gun. But I had a heavy-duty laser pointer I'd swiped from Kyle's desk and a heart full of stubborn rage.
The sniper adjusted his aim. The red dot appeared on Kyle's chest, centered right over his heart. Kyle didn't move. He was staring at a figure emerging from the shadows—Moretti, looking sleek and deadly in a long coat.
"You're late, Kyle," Moretti's voice echoed through the square. "And you're alone. Where is my property?"
"She's gone," Kyle said, his voice steady, though I could see his hand clench in his pocket. "I set her free. The debt is settled."
Moretti laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "Free? There is no such thing. If I can't have her, no one has a legacy."
The sniper's finger began to squeeze.
I aimed the laser pointer directly into Kyle's eyes for a split second.
Kyle flinched, his head snapping back from the blinding light just as the thwack of the suppressed rifle cut through the air. The bullet whizzed past his ear, shattering a stone pillar behind him.
"Ambush!" Kyle roared, diving behind a fallen marble block.
Chaos erupted. Kyle's hidden guards surfaced, returning fire, but they were pinned down. Moretti's men were closing in.
I didn't stay in the rafters. I dropped ten feet onto a canvas awning and slid to the ground, sprinting through the crossfire. I reached the marble block just as a bullet sparked off the top of it.
Kyle looked at me, his face covered in dust, his eyes wide with a shock that finally shattered his mask. "I told you to leave! Why are you here?"
"Because you're a terrible judge of character!" I shouted, grabbing the lapel of his expensive suit and pulling him down as another round of fire hissed over us. "And because you owe me way more than a dress now!"
I reached into my boot and pulled out a smoke canister I'd swiped from his security locker. "On three, we run for the alley. And Kyle?"
"What?" he rasped, his hand finding mine in the dirt, his grip desperate.
"Try to keep up. I'm the pro here."
I popped the canister. Thick, grey smoke swallowed the square. We ran. For the first time, I wasn't being led; I was leading. I felt his hand locked in mine, his fingers crushing my bones, and for a heartbeat, the arrogance was gone.