Chapter 4 - Cold Alliances
D’Angelo and Nancy emerged from the basement back into the kitchen. With the night-vision goggles, D’Angelo had the tactical advantage. The storm outside continued to rage, but inside, the house was a silent tomb.
He checked the burner phone again. A new message had arrived:
Team 1, status? Target should be neutralized by now. Camila is arriving at the front gate in five minutes to secure the scene.
D’Angelo’s eyes narrowed behind the green phosphor screen of the goggles. Camila was coming here. She wanted to see his body herself, to play the grieving fiancée for the police who would inevitably arrive hours later.
“We need to clear the rest of the house before she gets here,” D’Angelo said.
He moved through the kitchen and into the formal dining room. The first assassin he had distracted with the signet ring was still searching the east wing. D’Angelo spotted him near the glass display cases.
Using the suppressed carbine, D’Angelo fired two quick rounds. The quiet pfft-pfft of the suppressed weapon was masked entirely by a sudden crack of thunder outside. The assassin collapsed instantly against the glass, sliding down to the floor without a sound.
“Two down,” D’Angelo muttered. “There should be one more of the advance team.”
Suddenly, the front door of the estate groaned open.
The heavy, wind-driven rain swept into the foyer, bringing with it the scent of wet asphalt and dead leaves.
D’Angelo pulled Nancy behind a decorative limestone screen as footsteps hurried into the foyer.
It wasn't another assassin.
It was Camila.
She was wearing her cream-colored trench coat, her dark hair wet from the rain. She looked beautiful, cold, and entirely composed. Behind her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in a leather jacket.
D’Angelo’s chest tightened as he recognized the man.
It was Tommy Reed. His driver of eleven years.
“Is it done?” Camila asked, her voice echoing in the empty, dark foyer. She didn't sound sad or anxious; she sounded like a businesswoman checking on an inventory delivery.
Tommy pulled a hand radio from his pocket. “The basement team isn't answering, Camila. Something’s wrong. D’Angelo’s car is still behind the garage, but he isn't in the study.”
“He has to be here,” Camila said, her tone sharpening. “Find him, Tommy. If he’s alive, we don't leave this house. If he gets to his attorneys or the Bellacortes, we are both dead men walking.”
“I’m looking,” Tommy said, drawing a heavy chrome revolver from his jacket—the very gun D’Angelo had bought him for his birthday five years ago. “But he’s a ghost in this house. We should have waited for the main team.”
Behind the limestone screen, D’Angelo felt a cold, hard anger replace the numbness in his chest. Tommy. The man who had sat at his table, who had driven his mother to the hospital before she died, who knew every secret D’Angelo kept.
He looked at Nancy. She was staring at Tommy with absolute horror.
“Stay here,” D’Angelo whispered to her.
May you like
He stepped out from behind the limestone screen, his carbine leveled at Tommy’s chest.
“Looking for me, Tommy?” D’Angelo’s voice was as cold as the rain outside.
