Chapter 10
383 Words
The flash drive felt like a lead weight in my pocket as I crossed the room to the heavy velvet curtains. I didn't watch Charlotte leave; I watched the way the Roman sun hit the cobblestones, indifferent to the shifting of major plates in the underworld.
The "liquidator." My father had never spoken his name, only referred to him as "The Shadow". If the stories were true, he didn't just kill; he erased. He was the reason the Salvatore name still commanded a hushed admiration in the halls of the Vatican City State and the boardrooms of Lloyd's of London. To find him, I had to do more than just follow a paper trail; I had to bleed the right person.
I grabbed my coat, the silk lining sliding over my skin like a cold promise. The revolver went into the concealed gun case at the small of my back, a familiar, heavy anchor.
Outside, the air was steel, tasting of ancient stone and diesel exhaust. My driver, a man named Dante who had served my father for twenty years, stood by the black Maserati. He didn't ask where we were going; he saw the flash drive in my hand and the look in my eyes. He knew the transition had begun.
"The airport, Signorina?" he asked, his voice a low rasp.
"Not yet," I said, sliding into the leather interior. "We’re making a stop at the Piazza hub. I need to send a message before I leave Italian soil, and I need a very specific kind of stationary."
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number that wasn't in any directory. As the line clicked open, I felt the first real flow of adrenaline. I wasn't Charlotte’s pawn, and I wasn't my father’s ghost. I was the storm hitting the coast.
"It’s Vera," I said into the receiver. "Tell the Broker I’m coming for the Cayman Island accounts. And tell him to have the liquidator’s frequency ready. London is about to get very, very hot."
As we pulled away from the curb, I looked back at the Salvatore estate one last time. The rope was still around my neck, but for the first time, I was the one holding the slack.
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