Chapter 11 - Forty-Seven Seconds
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For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Then Lorenzo grabbed the metal case and shoved it into Elara's arms.
“Go!”
She stared at the blinking device.
“What about you?”
“Move!”
Detective Collins shouted for her officers to evacuate the lower level. Two men rushed toward the staircase while another called for the bomb squad.
Sloane began backing away.
Lorenzo followed him.
“You're not leaving.”
Sloane fired.
The bullet struck the wall beside Lorenzo's shoulder, spraying concrete dust across his coat.
Elara ducked behind the pillar.
The timer showed thirty-two seconds.
She heard boots pounding overhead, then a crash as someone slammed into the railing.
Lorenzo had reached Sloane.
They collided near the stairwell, struggling for control of the weapon. The remote skittered across the floor.
Elara looked at the device.
She knew nothing about explosives.
Nothing about wires.
Nothing about the technical difference between a threat and a working bomb.
But she knew the timer was counting down.
She grabbed the nearest metal object—a broken pipe—and dragged herself toward the staircase.
“Lorenzo!”
He glanced toward her.
She pointed at the remote.
He understood.
Sloane twisted free and lunged for it.
Lorenzo struck his arm aside. The remote slid beneath a rusted locker.
Twenty seconds.
Elara ran toward the exit.
A hand caught her coat.
She spun, raising the pipe.
Matteo stood behind her, breathing hard.
“Where is Lorenzo?”
“Still fighting Sloane!”
Matteo pushed her toward the stairs.
“Get outside.”
“You were suspended!”
“Argue with me later!”
They reached the upper floor as Detective Collins's officers pulled people beyond the fence.
Elara stumbled into the rain, clutching the metal case against her chest.
Lorenzo emerged seconds later with Sloane pinned against the wall. Blood darkened the sleeve of his coat, but he remained on his feet.
The bomb squad arrived before the timer reached zero.
The device turned out to be a crude incendiary mechanism designed to ignite a fuel container beneath the stairs. The remote had triggered a secondary timer, and the bomb technicians cut the ignition line with less than four seconds remaining.
Elara sat on the curb, shaking.
Lorenzo crouched in front of her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
His face was pale with fury and relief.
“You could have died.”
“So could you.”
“That wasn't your responsibility.”
“You keep saying that as if caring about someone is a contract I have to sign.”
He stared at her.
For a moment, the anger fell away.
Then he took her hand.
His fingers were cold.
“I don't know how to do this,” he admitted.
“Do what?”
“Let someone stand beside me without trying to control every step they take.”
Elara looked at their joined hands.
“Then start by asking instead of ordering.”
He nodded once.
Before either could speak again, Detective Collins approached with Sloane in custody.
“We found something in his vehicle,” she said.
She held up a phone.
“It contains a recording of a conversation between Sloane and Senator Shaw.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“Play it.”
Collins tapped the screen.
Sloane's voice emerged first.
“The Moretti boy is becoming a problem.”
Senator Shaw answered.
“He is his father's son. He will always be a problem.”
“Then we finish it.”
“And the waitress?”
A pause.
“She has the key.”
“Then make sure she never speaks to the police.”
The recording ended.
Elara felt sick.
Senator Shaw had not merely known about the operation.
She had ordered the silencing of witnesses.
Collins slipped the phone into an evidence bag.
“This will help. But it won't be enough by itself. We need the original documents.”
Elara opened the metal case.
The shipping records were intact.
So was the voice recorder.
Lorenzo took the recorder and pressed play.
Static crackled.
Then a woman's voice filled the rain-soaked air.
Elara recognized it instantly.
Her mother's.
“If anything happens to me, the people responsible are not acting alone. Victor Sloane is coordinating the thefts, but someone inside the Moretti family is protecting him. I have seen the payments. I have seen the signatures.”
A pause.
Then her mother spoke the words that made Lorenzo go still.
“The name at the bottom of the transfer is not Vittorio Moretti.”
Elara held her breath.
May you like
Her mother's voice trembled.
“It is Lorenzo's.”
