He’s counting on me to ignore that instruction, counting on me to bring backup.
Which means he’s prepared for it.
The Moretti house looms against the early dawn, a two-story colonial that’s seen better days.
The windows are dark except for a single light in what I remember is the living room.
I park directly in front of the house, the three other vehicles doing the same, and approach on foot, my gun drawn, every sense on high alert.
The front door stands open. An invitation. A taunt.
I step inside, and the smell hits me immediately. Gasoline. Lots of it. The hardwood floors gleam with it, and I can see where it’s been splashed across the walls, the furniture, everything.
One spark and this whole place goes up like a tinderbox.
“Sophia?” My voice echoes through the empty house.
“In here, nephew.” Lorenzo’s voice drifts from the living room, calm and almost cheerful.
I move toward it, my finger next to the trigger. The living room opens before me, and what I see makes my blood turn to ice.
Sophia sits in a chair in the center of the room, her wrists bound behind her.
But it’s not the restraints that steal my breath. It’s the vest strapped to her chest, covered in wires and what looks like enough C-4 to level the entire block.
Her blue eyes find mine, wide with fear but also something else.
Determination.
She’s not broken.
Not yet.
“Mikhail.” Her voice cracks on my name. “I’m sorry. I thought I could reason with him.” She shoots a look at her brother.
“Touching, isn’t it?” Lorenzo steps out from behind Sophia’s chair, and I see he’s holding a small device. A detonator. “Young love. So naive. So willing to sacrifice everything for each other.”
I aim my gun at his head. “Let her go, Lorenzo. This is between you and me.”
“Oh, but it’s so much more than that now.” He moves to the other side of the room, and that’s when I see Tony.
Sophia’s brother sits in an identical chair, wearing an identical vest. His face is pale, his green eyes haunted. Blood seeps through a bandage on his shoulder where I shot him, and guilt twists in my gut.
“You see, Mikhail, I’ve learned something about you over these past weeks.” Lorenzo circles the room like a predator, the detonator held loosely in his hand. “You’ve developed a conscience. A weakness. You actually care about people now. It’s quite pathetic, really.”
“What do you want?” I keep my gun trained on him, but my eyes keep flicking to Sophia. To the vest. To the wires that could end her life in an instant.
“I want you to suffer the way I’ve suffered.” Lorenzo’s voice hardens. “I want you to know what it’s like to lose everything. To have to choose between two people you love, knowing you can only save one.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I don’t love Tony, butshedoes. Sophia may never forgive me if I let him die. “No.”
“Yes.” Lorenzo holds up the detonator, and I see there are two buttons. One red, one blue. “Red is for your lovely wife. Blue is for her brother. You have exactly sixty seconds to decide which one lives and which one dies.”
“You’re insane.” But even as I say it, I’m calculating. The distance to Lorenzo. The time to cross the room. The probability of getting the detonator before he presses a button.
All of it comes up zero.
“I’m practical.” Lorenzo smiles, and it’s the coldest thing I’ve ever seen. “You’re killing my organization. And before you took everything from me, I’m going to finish taking it all from you. Starting with the choice that will haunt you for the rest of your miserable life.”
