Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT DIVERSION“Are you insane?” I hissed, keeping my voice down while pulling Emma closer to my chest. “You can barely stand, let alone hijack a boat guarded by armed hitmen!”
“I built this empire from the ground up, Clara,” Lorenzo muttered, sliding a heavy, steel-headed wrench off a nearby tool rack and tucking it into his belt. “I know every blind spot on these docks. More importantly, Marco is arrogant. He thinks I’m already dead.”
Outside, the voices of the guards grew louder.
“Check the pump house! Elena wants the perimeter completely secured before we head back up to the house.”
Heavy boots hit the wooden steps leading up to our door.
Panic surged through my veins, hot and sharp. I looked around the room—there was no back exit, no second way out. We were trapped in a wooden box waiting to be opened.
Lorenzo moved with surprising, agonizing speed. He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling silence, then crept toward the heavy wooden door, holding his pistol ready.
“Mama,” Emma whispered, her little voice trembling as she buried her face in my shoulder. “I’m scared.”
“I’ve got you, baby,” I whispered back, kissing the top of her head while my eyes never left the door handle.
Click.
The latch turned. The door swung inward, revealing the burly silhouette of a guard silhouetted against the moonlight, flashlight sweeping across the room.
Before the man could raise his weapon, Lorenzo lunged.
He didn’t use the gun. With brutal efficiency, Lorenzo slammed the heavy iron wrench across the guard’s temple. The man dropped like a stone, collapsing onto the floorboards without a single sound.
Lorenzo caught the falling body, his breath hitching as a fresh wave of pain wracked his injured side. He tossed the guard’s submachine gun across the floor toward me.
“Catch.”
I instinctively dropped to my knees, catching the heavy firearm with both hands. My heart slammed against my ribs. “I-I don’t know how to use this!”
“It’s simple: point and pull the trigger,” Lorenzo rasped, stripping the dead guard’s radio and ammunition vest. “We have less than two minutes before Marco realizes why his man hasn’t reported back. Move!”
We scrambled out of the pump house and onto the wooden pier. The cold ocean wind whipped around us, salt stinging our eyes. Down at the end of the dock, the black speedboat idled quietly, its engine humming a low, powerful tune.
Two more guards stood smoking near the boat, their backs turned to us.
Lorenzo raised his pistol.
Two suppressed shots.
Puff, puff.
Both guards dropped silently into the dark water, staining the foam a deep, oily black.
“Get in the boat,” Lorenzo ordered, his voice iron-clad.
I scooped Emma up, leaping into the rolling cockpit of the speedboat. Lorenzo followed, collapsing into the driver’s seat, his face pale and slick with cold sweat.
“Can you drive it?” I shouted over the rising roar of the engine.
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“Hold on,” Lorenzo growled, slamming the throttle forward.
The boat surged ahead like a bullet, throwing us back against the seats as it tore out of the cove and into the open, churning black ocean, leaving the Duca estate behind in the dust.
