To her relief, she was alone. Yet there was no escape here and few places to hide if anyone else came in.
Two parked Mercedes SUVs were in the space—one with its hood up, grease pan beneath. A working garage, then. There must be tools somewhere.
She crossed to a workbench and opened cabinets and drawers. What she needed—what she desperately wanted to find—was bolt cutters. But there was nothing! Nothing she could use to free Valerio. She growled in frustration.
She’d been here too long and spent her luck. She needed to get out.No sooner had she thought this than she heard a noise outside. Someone shouting.
Fuck. Fuck.
Stooping, she crept along the wall, prepared to drop to the floor and roll under a car or bench if someone opened the door. Then she saw it: a rack of keys behind the doorframe. She sprinted, and grabbed them all, shoving them into her bag.
Outside, she dashed for the trees.
She hadn’t gone far when the night erupted with shouts and the crackle of gunfire. Nikki hit the ground, waited and listened. But the activity seemed to be directed at the front of the compound. So many guns—far more than De Rosa’s alone. Had he called in his men—or had Maurizio and the police arrived? She hoped the latter.
She stood again, and raced for Valerio.
—
“Nikki, is that you?” Valerio said as she slammed against the door.
“I’ve found keys,” she panted.
She dug into the bag and started sorting—pushing the car keys aside, and trying the others. It was painstaking, slow work. The sounds of a gunfight drew closer, and she was seized with terror. Her hands and body shook.
“Please, please,” she whispered. Then, to Valerio, in a loudly cheerful voice: “How are you holding up?”
“Doing great,” he answered. “Take it easy, little devil.”
Key after key…none worked.
She swung around to the sounds of running feet and rustling in the trees. A figure burst from the woods. One of Lazarov’s men. He hesitated, obviously surprised to see her. Their eyes locked, and he raised his weapon. He never got the chance to use it.
Federico was behind him, the hollow cheeks and blank glasses of the tall man visible above the head of the guard. With startling speed, the long bony hands of the butcher moved around the neck. A blade flashed silver in the dim light, and the guard reached up to grab his throat as fountains of dark blood gushed from the wound. He made aterrible gurgling sound, heaving as he struggled to breathe, and collapsed.
Nikki watched in horror as the man thrashed. It was a terrible death. The worst thing she’d ever seen. Federico watched with her, a rigid stillness to his posture.
Somewhere nearby, an automatic weapon fired on repeat. This was followed by an explosion in the direction of the house, and a bright orange light flashed through the trees, bringing heat.
“Take his gun,” Federico told Nikki.
Crouching, she wrapped her fingers around the cold grip. Heavier than she expected.
—
The time for quiet caution had passed; the night was consumed by the chaos of the approaching fight.
It took three tries before the bullet shattered the lock. She pulled the sharp and twisted pieces away and gripped the door, pulling it wide.
The surging stench of the dark cavity was unbearable, the buzz of insects enveloping her. Nikki’s stomach heaved as she rushed inside and bent to grab Valerio’s feverish body.
“I’ve got you!” she said.
But he wasn’t moving. She leaned in and listened. His breathing was shallow.
“Help!” Nikki shouted to Federico. “Help me get him out.”
The old man joined her, and they half dragged, half carried Valerio outside.
