Chapter 4 - THE TRIGGER’S SECRETThe coffee cup shattered against the hardwood floor, sending a dark splash of liquid across the Persian rug like spilled ink.
Adrian slammed Julian against the corkboard wall with enough force to rattle the pushpins loose, sending dozens of photographs and floor plans fluttering down like autumn leaves. Julian’s hand was pinned flat against his side, his fingers clawing desperately at the pocket where a small, cylindrical detonator rested with a blinking green LED light.
“Don't do it,” Adrian breathed, his face inches from Julian’s. The scar across Adrian’s eyebrow stood out like a white brand against his flushed skin. “My grandmother has tea at nine this morning. I’d hate to ruin her appetite with an explosion.”
Julian coughed, a wet, rattling sound, but a sick grin spread across his lips. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth where he had hit the wainscoting. “You’re… you’re too late, Moretti. The data packet… it’s already uploaded. Every financial ledger, every offshore shell account, every bribe payment to the city council you’ve accumulated over the last decade… it’s bouncing through five different proxy servers in Zurich right now. By noon, the federal grand jury will have everything.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked down at the floor near my feet where one of the loose photographs had landed. It wasn't a picture of me. It wasn't a floor plan of Belladonna.
It was a photograph of a woman with auburn hair and sad, haunting eyes, standing on the steps of the exact same Boston brownstone twenty years ago. Written on the back in neat, elegant cursive was a single name: Evelyn Moretti.
I knelt down, picking up the photograph. My fingers brushed against the thick glossy paper. “Adrian… who is this?”
Adrian froze. The fury in his slate-gray eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a sudden, chilling stillness. He slowly turned his head away from Julian, his gaze dropping to the photograph in my hand.
The color drained completely from Adrian’s face.
“Where did you find that?” Adrian’s voice wasn't angry anymore; it was hollow. It sounded like glass breaking under ice.
“It was pinned to the back of the board,” I said, holding it up. “Julian… what does this have to do with the Moretti family?”
Julian let out a ragged, triumphant laugh, blood bubbling on his lips. “You think this was about corporate espionage, Moretti? You think some rival mafia family hired me to steal your shipping routes? Please. Some debts run much deeper than shipping lanes. Some blood has to be washed out with fire.”
Julian suddenly twisted his body with unnatural strength, wrenching his arm free from Adrian’s grip. Before Marco could raise his weapon, Julian slammed his palm down onto the blinking green LED on the detonator taped beneath the kitchen counter.
BEEP.
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The entire brownstone shook with a low, bone-rattling rumble.
“GET DOWN!” Adrian roared, lunging backward and sweeping me off my feet into his arms just as the front windows of the apartment blew inward in a cascade of shattered glass and white-hot fire.
