Chapter 3 - The Ghost On The Wire
Grace reached into the inner lining of Luca's tailored jacket, her fingers brushing against cold silk before finding a heavy, encrypted titanium smartphone.
The screen illuminated her pale face with harsh blue light.
A single notification flashed on the display.
COME BACK TO THE ESTATE. WE SECURED THE HOUSE.
The sender was listed simply as: MARCUS.
Grace looked down at Luca, whose breath came in ragged wheezes as he struggled to maintain consciousness.
"Who is Marcus?"
"Head of my personal security detail," Luca whispered, his teeth grinding together against a fresh wave of pain.
"He has been with my father for twenty years."
"He says the mansion is safe now."
"He says they secured it."
Luca did not look relieved; his expression hardened into stone.
"What is the timestamp on that message?"
Grace squinted at the small font.
"Eleven fifty-two."
"Seven minutes ago," Luca calculated, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
"The breach occurred at eleven thirty."
"It takes thirty-five minutes just to sweep the perimeter sensors in the eastern courtyard."
"He couldn't have secured the estate in twenty-two minutes."
Grace felt a chill run down her arms that had nothing to do with the freezing rain outside.
"You think he's lying?"
"I think Marcus is either dead, or he is the one who opened the service gate for the shooters."
Before Grace could process the terrifying implication of that statement, the phone buzzed violently in her palm.
A second message appeared.
WE FOUND YOUR DRIVER. HE IS ALIVE. RETURN VIA ROUTE NINE.
Luca let out a grim, hollow sound that might have been a laugh if his lungs had enough air to support it.
"My driver was shot twice in the chest in front of the main foyer before I reached the garage."
"I saw him fall."
"Whoever is holding that phone didn't see the bodies inside the courtyard."
"They are guessing."
"They are fishing for my location."
Grace dropped the phone onto the floor mat as if it were a venomous snake.
"They have your security network."
"They have your vehicles."
"They have your men."
"Who is doing this to you, Luca?"
It was the first time she had dropped the honorific, and neither of them seemed to notice the boundary crumbling between them.
"Someone who knows the rotation schedules."
"Someone who had access to the master codes."
"Someone within the inner council."
Suddenly, Grace's own cheap Android phone began vibrating inside her coat pocket.
The jarring, standard ringtone sounded deafening inside the cramped cabin of the car.
Grace froze, terror paralyzing her limbs.
"Who has your number?" Luca demanded, his voice suddenly alert with feral suspicion.
"Nobody," she stammered, pulling out the battered plastic device.
"Just my brother's school and my landlord."
The caller ID showed an unlisted, twelve-digit encrypted private number.
"Put it on speaker," Luca ordered, his fingers reaching down to touch the small ceramic knife concealed inside his boot.
"Hold it near my mouth."
Grace swiped the green icon with a trembling thumb and held the device between them.
"Hello?" she whispered.
An elderly voice emerged from the small speaker, rich with gravel, authority, and an unnerving, grandfatherly warmth.
"Grace Miller?"
Grace blinked in astonishment.
"Who is this?"
"This is Vincent Moretti."
Luca's entire body went rigid.
He lunged forward, ignoring the fire tearing through his ribs, and pressed his mouth to the microphone.
"Grandpa?"
Vincent Moretti had been the undisputed sovereign of the family for nearly five decades before officially handing operational control to Luca three years ago.
At eighty years old, the patriarch supposedly lived in complete seclusion on an orchard estate ninety miles north of the city, spending his retirement tending to rare orchids and writing his memoirs.
He was never supposed to be in the metropolitan area.
He was never supposed to have the private cell phone number of a junior domestic cleaning maid.
"Luca," the old man said, his cadence completely devoid of panic.
"You are alive."
"Barely," Luca rasped.
"Where are you?"
"Do not answer that," Vincent commanded instantly, his tone shifting into the crisp, tactical authority of a wartime general.
"Do not speak a single street name, landmark, or geographical coordinate over this channel."
"Grandpa, Marcus texted me," Luca said urgently.
"He told me to bring the car back to the estate."
"Marcus is floating face down in the retention pond behind the stables, Luca."
The air inside the Honda seemed to drop ten degrees.
"The men chasing you are using his phone to triangulate your emergency signal," Vincent continued calmly.
"The entire inner security grid was compromised at four o'clock this afternoon."
"How do you know that?" Luca asked, confusion bleeding into his exhaustion.
"Because I built that grid forty years ago, my boy," Vincent replied softly.
"And I know who holds the override keys."
"Who?"
"We will discuss that when your blood is back inside your veins."
The old man paused, the sound of rain drumming against glass audible on his end of the line as well.
"Grace," Vincent called out.
"Yes, sir?" she answered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"There is a closed compounding pharmacy on Oak Street, two blocks south of the old railway junction."
"The building was condemned six months ago, but the service garage in the rear has a reinforced iron gate."
"The security cameras on that block have been offline for three weeks."
"Bring him there in precisely fourteen minutes."
Grace looked at Luca, seeking confirmation.
The mob boss stared back at her, his dark eyes wide with an emotion she had never seen in him: total, unhesitating deference.
May you like
"He is the only man on earth I trust with my life," Luca said softly.
Grace pulled the car into reverse, wiped the condensation from the windshield, and turned the wheel toward Oak Street.
