Chapter 5 - The Trap at Leto
The front door of Leto was locked, the "CLOSED" sign dangling crookedly in the glass window, but the side service entrance was unlatched.
Nora stood in the alleyway with Roman and two of his heavy-set enforcers—Enzo and Marcus—who moved with terrifying, silent efficiency.
“Stay behind me,” Roman instructed, drawing a sleek, suppressed semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster with a smooth, practiced motion.
“I know how to clear a room, Roman,” Nora whispered, pulling a heavy steel wrench she had snagged from the warehouse garage out of her coat pocket.
Roman glanced at her, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “You continue to surprise me, Miss Hayes.”
“Save the flattery for after we don't get shot.”
Enzo kicked the service door open with a single, brutal thrust of his boot. The heavy wood splintered inward, crashing against the tile floor of the restaurant kitchen.
Empty.
The espresso machine hissed softly in the background. The smell of old garlic and bleach hung in the air. But near the manager’s office in the back, a light flickered beneath the door.
Roman raised his pistol, signaling Enzo and Marcus to flank the sides. He reached out and shoved the office door wide open.
David Mercer sat at his small metal desk, surrounded by stacks of cash, a laptop open to the Silverthorne Holdings interface, and an encrypted satellite phone glowing blue in the dark room.
When he looked up and saw Roman Vale standing in his doorway—flanked by armed enforcers and a very angry former waitress holding a wrench—David slid off his chair, his knees hitting the floor with a pathetic thud.
“Mr. Vale,” David choked out, trembling so violently his teeth clicked. “I can explain. The Alieds—they threatened my family—they said if I didn't let their men use the restaurant’s basement router to hack the port grid—”
“You sold out the docks for a percentage,” Roman said coldly, stepping into the office and pointing the barrel of his pistol directly at David’s forehead.
“Please!” David wept, pressing his palms together. “I had no choice! They knew where my kids went to school!”
Nora stepped past Roman, looking down at the shivering manager with cold contempt. This was the man who had fired her without a second thought, trading her livelihood to save his own skin while working hand-in-glove with the men who wanted her dead.
“You fired me because you were afraid of losing your arrangement with the Alieds,” Nora said, her voice cutting like glass.
“Nora—please—tell him—”
“Shut up, David,” Nora snapped, lifting the wrench. Then, turning to Roman: “The satellite phone. Look at the outgoing call log.”
Roman glanced down at the glowing device on the desk. He pressed a button, bringing up the recent transmission history.
“Tariq Alied,” Roman read aloud. “Last call made twelve minutes ago.”
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“And what did he say?” Nora asked.
“The warehouse on Fourth Street,” Roman replied, his eyes narrowing as a grim realization settled over his features. “They aren't just hacking the port grid from here. They’re moving the main terminal server tonight at noon.”
