I searched desperately with my good hand. Landline—dead. Computer—password protected. Drawers—locked.
Then I saw papers on his desk. They looked important.
My memory engaged automatically. Contract documents. Names. Bank accounts.
And there—a hit order.
TARGET: Alessio Valestri
LOCATION: Federal Building, downtown Phoenix
TIMELINE: Upon federal processing.
METHOD: Long-range, clean exit
PAYMENT: $500,000
NOTE: Contingency activated upon target entering federal custody. Sniper positioned.
He'd had this planned. A contingency for if Alessio were ever arrested. And now Alessio was being transported to federal processing, walking straight into Marco's trap.
Tears blurred the words.
They're killing him. And he has no idea.
I looked at the desk clock: 5:15 p.m.
How much time do I have?
Then I saw it—an old house phone built into the wall panel near the bookshelves. Different circuit. Probably forgotten.
I lifted the receiver.
Thank God—a dial tone. Relief crashed through me.
I dialed 911, my swollen thumb screaming with every button.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Hostage situation. DeLuca estate, 847 Riverside Drive. Marco DeLuca is trying to kill me. He has guards, weapons. And there'sa hit on Alessio Valestri at the federal building at 6 p.m. Please—you have to warn them. Send help."
"Ma'am, stay calm. Officers are being dispatched—"
Heavy footsteps in the hall. Definitely more than one.
"I have to go."
I hung up, looking desperately around me.
The panic room. Marco had installed it behind the bookshelf years ago—one of his paranoid security measures I'd rolled my eyes at.
Now, it might save my life.
I found the hidden latch and pulled. The shelf swung open on silent hinges.
It was a small fortified room. Steel walls. Supplies. Camera system showing the entire estate.
And a computer terminal with a webcam.
