Chapter 6 - THE RAT IN THE TRAP
Smoke drifted lazily through the open bay doors of the garage, mixing with the scent of cordite and burnt oil.
Alessandro lowered his weapon, his chest rising and falling in measured beats. He stepped over the threshold, his boots crunching on broken glass, and walked toward the burning wreckage of the lead vehicle.
A man was crawling from the shattered driver's window of the second SUV—a heavy-set operative with a bleeding shoulder and a shattered tactical radio clutched in his fist.
Alessandro walked up, placed the polished toe of his Berluti shoe squarely on the man's chest, and pressed down until the operative gasped in pain.
"Marco," Alessandro said softly, his voice cutting through the crackle of the fire. "Is he still in the city, or did he fly in to watch the fireworks?"
The man spat a mouthful of blood onto the dust. "Go to hell, Moretti."
Before Alessandro could apply more pressure, the barrel of a shotgun pressed gently against the back of the man's ear. Sophia stood behind him, her face smudged with soot, her eyes cold as winter steel.
"He's lying," Sophia said quietly. "Marco isn't in New York. He's sitting in a private hangar six miles down the road at the airstrip, waiting for his phone to ring with confirmation that you're dead."
The operative's eyes widened in sudden, stark terror as he looked from Alessandro to Sophia. "How... how did you know that?"
"Because," Sophia said, cocking the shotgun with a sharp, echoing click, "I tapped your encrypted comms channel ten minutes before you pulled into the driveway. Your boss loves talking on open-frequency backup satellites when he thinks he's won."
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Alessandro looked at Sophia, a slow, dangerous smile finally breaking across his face.
"Six miles," Alessandro murmured, lowering his shoe from the man's chest. He turned his gaze toward the dark, curving dirt road leading back toward the private airfield. "It seems we have an appointment to keep."
