With my hand on the doorknob, I took one last look around this room—it held too much joy and pain.
Goodbye, Kholod Morozov.
The door opened silently. The corridor was dim, with only emergency lights flickering faintly.
The Morozov manor's electrical system was indeed robust, but the thunderstorm arrived as expected. During my recent walks, I had studied the electrical system and secretly placed a metal rod near the transformer. Although there were backup generators, full startup would take several minutes—exactly the chaos I needed.
I hurried through the corridor, down the stairs, past the main hall. The servants were all dealing with the power outage—no one noticed this "hurried maid."
I pushed open the side door, threw on a rain poncho, and rushed into the storm. The rain was freezing, but I couldn't stop.
I ran desperately toward the manor gates. Zoe had said the contact would wait on the side road at midnight. I had already passed the manor's layout to her through scattered paintings.
Rain blurred my vision, and the muddy ground nearly made me fall several times. But I couldn't stop.
Finally, I saw the manor gates. I hid behind a sculpture to observe. A patrol team had just passed, and the guardhouse was empty—they must have gone to handle other situations.
I seized the moment to slip through the gates. A black sedan was parked by the roadside, its headlights flashing twice.
The contact.
I rushed over and yanked open the door.
"Go!"
The car started immediately and sped into the rainy night.
"Are you all right?" He turned around, the scar on his face particularly stark in the dim light.
"Lorenzo?"
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kholod
"Andre spilled everything, boss."
Dmitri's voice came through the phone, heavy with post-interrogation exhaustion.
"Clean it up." I crushed out my cigarette.
"Yes, sir."
I hung up and checked my watch—3:45 AM.
Another traitor eliminated.
Since the last incident, we'd been purging the manor's inner circle. Intelligence confirmed Andre had been our leak all along. But according to his confession, there was still a high-level mole buried deeper—someone who'd gone dark these past months, leaving no trace.
I didn't want to suspect anyone close to me, but silence was crucial now. No point in spooking our target.
I stood up, rolling the stiffness from my shoulders. Time to head back.
Strangely, I found myself wanting to see Noelle. I'd taken my anger over her father's betrayal out on her, but looking back now, she was innocent in all this.
Maybe I should tell her the truth about Marco Bellucci's death. Put this to rest. As for the mole situation—until we found them, she was safer at the manor. I was sick of all the constant suspicion.
The car cut through Philadelphia's empty streets, windshield wipers beating a steady rhythm. The storm had hit suddenly, rain hammering the roof like gunfire.
