Chapter 33 - The Diplomatic Courier
Ten minutes later, two Rossi guards hauled a tall, immaculately dressed man into the study. He wore a charcoal-grey tailored suit that was entirely unwrinkled, despite having spent the last six hours locked in a Sicilian holding cell. His hair was silver-streaked at the temples, and his pale blue eyes held the cold, calculating composure of a seasoned intelligence officer.
He didn't look like a mob enforcer. He looked like a high-ranking bureaucrat who traded human lives on spreadsheets.
“Dominic Rossi,” the man said smoothly, his voice carrying a crisp, clipped European accent. “And Dr. Nora Hayes. It is a privilege to finally meet the legendary medical miracle who keeps the northern king breathing.”
Dominic stepped forward, his massive frame towering over the courier. He didn't offer a chair. “You have five seconds to explain why your people are sniffing around my docks before my men throw you off the cliff into the cove.”
The courier—who introduced himself as Director Klaus Reinhardt of the German federal oversight directorate—smiled faintly, entirely unfazed by the threat.
“Mr. Rossi, violence is so terribly provincial,” Reinhardt said calmly, folding his hands behind his back. “I am not here to start a war. I am here to clean up a mess your late father-in-law left behind a decade ago when he decided to moonlight as an Interpol whistleblower.”
My blood ran cold. I stepped around Dominic, my eyes narrowing at the German official. “My father’s work was buried by international courts. He didn't moonlight; he upheld the law.”
“He stole a microchip containing the structural framework of the entire European synthetic narcotics network,” Reinhardt countered sharply, his polite mask slipping for a fraction of a second to reveal raw, predatory intent. “A microchip that your father entrusted to his only daughter before his car went off an Alpine cliff.”
Silence descended upon the study. The heavy air of the room felt suffocating.
May you like
I had never heard of a microchip. My father had left me nothing but debt, a rusted car, and memories of long hospital shifts.
Dominic slowly turned his head to look down at me, his dark eyes searching my face with sharp, unyielding intensity. “Nora? Did your father ever give you anything before he died?”
