Nikki was on her feet, terror and fury propelling her forward. But Federico’s hands were on her, wrenching her back to the ground.
“That’s Luca,” he hissed in her ear. “He’ll kill you—or worse.”
She yielded, heart aching, hands trembling as she tried to hold the camera steady.
—
The white-haired Lazarov arrived in a sedan, and dragged someone from the boot—a large woman in medical scrubs with a mop of curly hair. She cried and struggled—and he punched her. Then, one of the guards wrestled her upright and held a gun to her head. The woman sobbed. Valerio and Lazarov were shouting at each other. Nikki strained to hear what they were saying—when a report rang out. For a terrible moment, she thought Valerio had been shot. But it was a guard who fell, clutching his stomach.
Nikki looked between the players, trying to understand what had happened. The captive woman now had a gun. She was yelling, gesturing—when Lazarov shot her.
The bullet slammed her backwards. She crumpled.
Lazarov strolled to her and, with visible disdain, nudged the motionless body with his boot. Then he aimed his weapon again.
The echoing gunshot was followed by a wailing howl.
Nikki recognized Valerio’s voice, but had never guessed he could make such a terrible sound.
Evading Federico and ignoring his protests, Nikki launched fromher position and skidded down the hill, keeping low and staying in the cover of shadows and trees.
—
The descent was steep, tough, long—a one-way trip. She tried not to think about what would happen when she arrived at the courtyard lights and the army of well-armed men. Instead, she focused on maneuvering the difficult terrain, pausing to verify her cover and check what was happening in the courtyard where some of the men were arguing.
Her attention was on Valerio. He’d stopped moving.
“Don’t let him be dead,” she murmured, panic and dread making her sick.
She needed help.
The signal on her phone was low—not enough to send the video she’d taken of the woman’s murder. But hopefully enough for a text.
He’s here, she wrote to Maurizio.Injured. Errichiello’s place. Caserta. They just killed a woman. Bring police.
She shared her coordinates.
She was nearly level with the courtyard now—Valerio so close that, under other circumstances, she could have strolled into the stark lights and felt for a pulse.
She wasn’t sure what to do next, yet she knew that if she didn’t act soon, Lazarov would kill Valerio like he’d killed the woman. As she watched, two of the men grabbed Valerio, and dragged him from the courtyard and into the woods at the rear of the house. She kept pace as best she could, but her progress was hampered by the thick brush—and she had to stop when a guard came close to her position and lit a cigarette, staring into the trees. She held still, hardly daring to breathe as he finished and strolled away.
She was motionless for a long time after that—watching the courtyard. Two men collected the woman’s body and left. Then the buzzing bright lights switched off.
A welcome darkness enveloped the world.
Nikki listened, waiting for the activity to die down before she began moving again, towards the area where the men had taken Valerio.
—
About two hundred meters from the house, in an overgrown thicket, she found a small square concrete building. She waited and then approached cautiously. The only entry was a heavy wooden door secured with a large padlock and chain. She tapped on the door, and whispered Valerio’s name. No reply.
“Valerio,” she said again, this time louder. “Are you there?”
She strained to listen. Silence.
She examined the padlock and chain, hopeful that someone had been sloppy in securing it—but it was locked tight.
She rapped her knuckles against the door again…and again.
