Chapter 32 - The Berlin Protocol
The private study downstairs felt colder than usual as Dominic paced across the Persian rug, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone tiles. Salvatore stood near the door, his hand resting inside his jacket where a suppressed weapon lay hidden.
“They want an exchange,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, arctic register. “Our Palermo port authority files in exchange for your safety. They think you’re a vulnerability, Nora.”
“They think I’m a loose end,” I corrected sharply, leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk with my arms crossed. I had traded my scrubs for a tailored silk blouse, but the cold, analytical detachment of an ER triage nurse never left me. “My father died ten years ago, and his files were wiped by federal scrubbers. I don’t have their ledgers. But they don't know that. They just know my last name.”
“Which means you are the target,” Dominic snapped, stopping in his tracks and fixing me with a fierce, possessive glare. “I spent a year securing this estate, locking down every border from Marseille to Palermo, and now some ghost from a German syndicate thinks they can dictate terms to my house?”
“Calm down, Dominic,” I said evenly, stepping closer and placing a hand firmly on his chest. I could feel the rapid, heavy thrum of his heart beneath his shirt. “Rule one of any crisis: evaluate the vitals before you panic. If they wanted you dead, they would have sent a car bomb to the villa. They sent a messenger to the docks because they want information. That means we have leverage.”
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Salvatore cleared his throat softly. “The courier is currently secured in the lower holding cells, Boss. He’s carrying a diplomatic passport under a false name, but our contacts in Rome confirmed his ties to the German federal intelligence black-ops division.”
Dominic jaw clenched so tight a muscle twitched violently. “Bring him up to the study. Let’s see what the Berlin ghost has to say to the master of the house.”
