When we reached the door, we heard voices on the other side.
Voices and muffled footsteps. A woman’s sharp inhalation. A man’s low command.
“Ready?” I mouthed to Valkyrie.
She nodded once.
I carefully opened the door and we entered the lobby.
The space looked different from when we first came in. Same tall columns, same unfinished floor, same huge run of glass facing the boardwalk. But instead of just dust and abandoned tools, there were people here now.
Vladimir stood near the middle of the room with Roman’s wife and daughter flanking him like props.
His coat was dark and long, open over a dress shirt and vest. He held a pistol in his right hand, the barrel pointed casually at the floor, like he thought pointing it at someone would be gauche. His left hand rested on Roman’s wife’s arm.
She was pale, eyes wide, breathing too fast. The zip ties on her wrists cut into the skin above the pearl bracelet she still wore.
Gianna stood on his other side.
Dark hair loose around her shoulders. Black jeans. Boots with heels made for wine tastings, not sprints. And a leather jacket that looked too heavy for someone her size, or for the occasion.
Her hands were bound in front of her too. But her shoulders were back. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the room. Taking in exits and angles.
Four men clustered in a loose arc around them.
Two in tailored dark suits, their jackets open over shoulder holsters. One wore a Steel Serpent cut, his hand with a pistol in it. And one Bolivar member with a tattooed throat, shotgun resting across his palms like he thought it made him invincible.
We had maybe a second or two of grace while their attention was off us.
“On you,” Valkyrie whispered.
I stepped out from behind one of the front desks.
“Don’t,” I called, voice cracking across the space like a whip.
All seven heads spun.
I didn’t aim at Vladimir.
I aimed at the Serpent first.
He was the one who would react the fastest, trained for chaos. He died before he got his gun half up, the round punching through his sternum and knocking him backwards onto polished concrete.
Valkyrie’s shot took one of the suits in the forehead.
The other two moved—one toward cover, one bringing his weapon up. Vlad jerkedRoman’s wife in front of him, half-using her as a shield.
Gianna stepped sideways, away from him, into a gap between two columns. It was small, but it spoke volumes. She knew cover amidst chaos.
“Guns down!” I shouted. “Now!”
The remaining suit dropped behind the front desk half-wall on the other side, firing blindly toward us. The shotgun guy swung his weapon around, pellets blasting chips out of the column I dove behind.
Valkyrie slid in beside me, her shoulder hitting mine.
“Miami,” I said, low. “What’s street side look like?”
“Still got a cluster of suits and cartel boys by that van,” he said. “They’re keyed up. Some of them just tensed, like they heard something. They haven’t moved yet, but… hang on. One just pointed toward the building. They’re coming in on foot.”
