Chapter 8 - THE TORONTO TRAP
Toronto glittered beneath freezing rain.
The charity gala occupied the top floor of a waterfront hotel, where glass walls overlooked the lake and polished politicians pretended they did not recognize criminals in tuxedos.
Matteo arrived alone.
That was what Victor Vale expected.
But Tessa was already inside, disguised as a guest. Federal agents waited beyond the ballroom, following leads Camille had provided. And Camille herself stood near the bar in a silver dress, looking exactly like the woman Vale remembered.
Beautiful.
Composed.
Useful.
Victor Vale entered at 9:16 p.m.
He was seventy-one, elegant, silver-haired, and smiling.
Matteo had expected a monster.
Instead, he saw an old man who knew how to make evil look civilized.
Vale greeted donors, shook hands, kissed cheeks, and laughed at jokes. Then his eyes found Matteo across the room.
His smile widened.
“Matteo Serrano,” he said, approaching. “You have your father’s posture.”
“You have his blood on your hands.”
Vale’s smile faded slightly.
“Still grieving Sofia?”
“You know I am.”
“You were always sentimental. Your father was too.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“Where are Elena and Lila?”
Vale lifted his champagne glass.
“Safe.”
“If you hurt them—”
“You will do what?” Vale asked mildly. “Kill me? Here?”
People nearby laughed at something unrelated. Music continued playing.
Vale leaned closer.
“You are not the only man who understands pressure, Matteo.”
Camille appeared beside them.
“Victor,” she said warmly.
Vale turned.
For an instant, genuine surprise crossed his face.
“Camille.”
“I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“I heard Rafael had taken care of you.”
“He tried.”
Vale looked from Camille to Matteo.
Then his eyes narrowed.
“You betrayed him.”
Camille’s smile disappeared.
“No. I stopped betraying myself.”
Vale set down his glass.
That was the signal.
The ballroom lights went out.
Guests screamed.
Security doors locked automatically.
Matteo reached for Camille, but someone slammed into him from behind. Men in formal suits surged through the darkness. Not guests. Vale’s people.
Tessa’s voice came through Matteo’s earpiece.
“West exit compromised. Move east.”
Matteo fought through the crowd, dragging Camille with him. They reached a service corridor as alarms began to sound.
“You knew he’d do this?” Camille asked.
“I knew he’d have a plan.”
“This is not a plan. This is a war.”
“No,” Matteo said. “This is the end of one.”
They ran toward the elevator bank.
The doors opened.
Mark Ellison stepped out.
Tessa’s traitorous team leader held a gun in one hand and Lila’s paper boat in the other.
Matteo stopped.
“Where are they?”
Mark smiled.
“Alive.”
“If you touch them—”
“You keep saying that,” Mark said. “But you never finish the sentence.”
Camille stepped forward. “Where’s Victor?”
Mark’s eyes shifted toward her.
“You should have stayed useful.”
Then he raised the weapon.
A shot cracked through the corridor.
Mark fell backward.
Tessa stood at the far end, gun raised.
“Drop it,” she said.
Mark looked at the blood spreading across his shirt, then laughed.
“You always were better than me.”
“Where are Elena and Lila?”
Mark coughed.
“Warehouse. Detroit. Riverside Freight.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“That’s one of Vale’s old properties.”
Mark nodded weakly.
“He wants you there by sunrise.”
Tessa moved closer.
“Which building?”
Mark smiled again.
Then he stopped breathing.
Camille stared down at him.
“Detroit,” she whispered. “It was Detroit all along.”
Tessa was already on her phone, arranging transport and coordinating with federal authorities.
Matteo looked at the paper boat on the floor.
He bent and picked it up.
The edges were crushed.
On the inside, written in crayon, was one word.
HELP
Lila had left it for him.
She believed he would find it.
Matteo closed his hand around the paper.
May you like
“We’re going home,” he said.
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