My heart hammers against my ribs. Did he escape? Did they take him? I look closer. There is blood on the floor. Fresh blood. A trail. Leading to the bathroom.
The man by the bathroom door kicks it. "Come out, Graves! We know you're in there! We just want the drive!"
Silence from the bathroom.
"We have the girl!" the kneeling man lies loud. "We caught her downstairs! Give up the codes or we cut her throat!"
A bluff. They don't have me. But Alaric doesn't know that. If he thinks they have me... he will surrender. He will trade his life for mine.
I need to let him know. I need to signal him.
I look at the window latch. It’s old. Loose. I take the ceramic knife from my boot. I slide the blade between the sash and the frame. I lift the latch. Silent.
The window slides up. I climb over the sill. I am in the room behind the kneeling man. He is focused on the bathroom door. "I'm counting to three, Graves!"
I step forward. I don't have a silencer. The gunshot will alert the whole street. I have to use the knife.
I lunge. I cover the kneeling man's mouth with my hand. I drive the knife into the base of his skull.Sever the brain stem.He goes limp instantly. Dead weight. I lower him to the floor. No sound.
The second man—the one by the bathroom door—hears the soft thud. He starts to turn. "Marco?"
I raise the SIG. "Marco is indisposed," I say.
The man spins, raising his weapon. He sees me. He sees the dead man at my feet. His eyes go wide.
"Drop it," I command.
He doesn't drop it. He swings the gun toward me. I fire.Bang.One shot. Center mass. The man flies back, hitting the bathroom door. He slides down, leaving a red smear on the wood.
The door flies open. Alaric stumbles out. He is holding a piece of a broken mirror as a weapon. He is shirtless, covered in sweat, his eyes wild. He sees the dead man at his feet. He looks up. He sees me. Smoke curling from the gun barrel. The knife in my other hand dripping blood.
"Elodie?" he whispers.
"I got the passports," I say, my voice steady. "And a scooter."
He looks at the carnage. Two dead Syndicate hitmen in a cheap hotel room in Genoa. He starts to laugh. A jagged, broken sound. He drops the mirror shard. He walks to me. He steps over the body. He grabs my face. He kisses me hard, tasting of blood and fever.
"You are terrifying," he breathes.
"I learned from the best." I pull away. "We have to go. The shot was loud. TheCarabinieriwill be here in three minutes."
I grab the backpack. "Can you run?"
Alaric looks at his shoulder. It’s bleeding again. "I can run," he says. "If you lead."
"I'm leading," I say.
We run out the door. Down the fire escape. To the Vespa. Alaric gets on the back. He wraps his arms around my waist. He rests his feverish head on my shoulder. "Savona," I say, revving the engine.
"Drive," he whispers.
We shoot out of the alley. We merge into the traffic. We are just two lovers on a scooter, speeding along the Italian coast. Behind us, sirens wail. Ahead of us, the open road.
I feel the weight of the USB drive in my pocket. I feel the weight of the gun. I feel the weight of his arms around me.
We are not safe. We are not whole. But we are free.
CHAPTER 33
