The boy is almost unrecognisable. The flesh has been ripped away, torn and hacked to leave little more than a lump of flesh behind, fleshless lips twisted in a horrific, final scream. Swallowing, Cat steps closer to examine him. “It’s Alessandro.”
Beside me, Dom swipes his hand over his face. “Fucking hell. He was barely more than akid.”
Cat is staring at those sightless eyes, her muscles locked. She doesn’t argue when I take the dagger from her hand and rip through the final piece of material. The name has been carved into his battered chest, spiky scarlet letters.
CATERINA.
She remains still. “Sandro was the hacker I sent into the Corvo accounts.”
The hacker that locked Matteo out.
“Two hours,” I say quietly. An apology in my voice. “It’s not much time to prepare.”
“No. But we have had longer than that,” she says tightly. She gestures for the knife, flipping the handle in her hand. And then she throws it, the roar of rage tearing from her throat as the knife slices through the rope. She catches Alessandro’s body without flinching, grips him and lowers him to the floor before kneeling. Her head bows.
Dom’s hand on my arm stops me. “Give her a minute.”
I turn, taking in the avid onlookers. Some of them inch closer, craning to see. When I cross my arms, Dom turns too. Gio follows. Dante. Stefano.
They decide to look away and fucking fast.
28 – Caterina
Sixty seconds.
That’s all I give myself. Give Sandro, before I stand.
My men have their backs to me. The Courtyard is almost empty now, and I play with the knife in my hand.
Amie.
Frankie.
And me.
Three bodies planned for. Three nooses.
“Gather as many as you can,” I say tightly. “Anyone who can provide cover fire, but they need good aim. We need to be able to fire as many bullets as possible, asquicklyas possible, in a rolling wave without breaks.”
Dom gives me a questioning look. “We don’t have automatic weapons here.”
“Glock switches,” Stefan’s brows draw down. “Attach them to a handgun and it turns into a semi-automatic.”
I look at the nooses again. The names. “Get them. And as many Glocks as you can dig up. We need someone fast, too. Several of them. And strong, too.”
“Rocco,” Dante says immediately. Cat nods. “Who else?”
“Tony.” Vincent’s grief is clear, his voice guttural. “He’s coming.”
“Anyone else?” Luc asks, but I shake my head.
I can see his desperation, his guilt. It hovers inside my own chest, too. “Luc – the chances of us actually getting them out of there – it’s slim.”
Frankie and Amie might die today. They might even be dead already, but as I look back at those nooses, I doubt it.
Because the third noose is mine. I wonder if Matteo has realised yet that his little lapdog will not be delivering me as planned. That his grand finale will be missing the guest of honor.
I glance over at Dante, at Gio. Dante notices my stare first. “What does that look mean?”
