Chapter 5 - The Warehouse of Ghosts
The exchange was set for midnight at an abandoned freight warehouse near the river.
Of course it was.
Men like Viktor loved old buildings. Empty places. Cold concrete. Rooms where no one could hear a person scream.
Sloan sat in Matteo’s armored SUV wearing black jeans, boots, and a borrowed jacket with a hidden radio sewn into the collar.
Arthur sat in the front passenger seat, checking weapons.
Matteo sat beside Sloan.
“You stay behind me,” he said.
She looked at him.
“You’ve known me four days.”
“And?”
“And you still think I’m going to follow orders?”
Matteo almost smiled.
“Fair.”
Sloan leaned closer.
“You get Carla out. I’ll handle Viktor.”
“No.”
“You cannot control every part of this.”
“I can try.”
“And that is why men like Viktor survive. They count on men like you believing you can carry the whole world alone.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
Sloan held his gaze.
“I know him. I know how he thinks.”
“You were a child.”
“I was old enough to know he liked fear.” Her voice lowered. “He likes people begging. He needs to feel bigger than everyone in the room.”
Matteo said nothing.
“So don’t give him what he wants,” Sloan finished.
When they entered the warehouse, Carla was tied to a chair beneath a hanging work light.
Viktor stood behind her.
He was older than Sloan remembered. Heavyset now, with silver threaded through his dark hair. But his eyes had not changed.
Warm eyes, people used to say.
Kind eyes.
Sloan knew better.
He smiled when he saw her.
“Little star.”
The name made her stomach turn.
“Don’t call me that.”
“You grew up beautiful.” Viktor’s gaze moved over her face. “Your father would be proud.”
“My father doesn’t get to be proud of anything.”
Viktor laughed.
Matteo moved half a step forward.
“Release the girl.”
Viktor tilted his head. “Ah. Matteo Valente. You have become sentimental.”
“You have become careless.”
Viktor’s smile faded slightly.
“You think this is about the girl? It is about an account your father kept, Sloan. A ledger. Names, payments, politicians, police officers, shipping routes.” He looked at Matteo. “Names that could destroy half this city.”
Sloan’s heart pounded.
“My father has it?”
“He hid it before the fire. Then vanished.” Viktor’s gaze sharpened. “But I believe he told you where.”
“He didn’t.”
“Liar.”
“I was eight.”
“Children remember more than adults think.”
Viktor nodded toward Carla.
One of his men pressed a gun against Carla’s temple.
Sloan moved before Matteo could stop her.
“Wait!”
Viktor smiled.
“There she is.”
Sloan forced herself to breathe.
A memory rose from somewhere deep and ugly.
Her father kneeling beside her in a dark basement.
Smoke in the air.
His hands shaking as he pressed something cold into her palm.
If anyone asks, you don’t know. If anyone finds you, you run.
She had been too terrified to understand.
But now she remembered.
A silver locket.
The one she had worn around her neck for eighteen years.
Sloan reached beneath her shirt.
Matteo saw it.
Viktor’s face lit with triumph.
“You have it.”
“It’s not a ledger.”
“No,” Viktor said. “It is the key.”
Sloan took off the locket.
Her fingers trembled.
Inside was a tiny metal strip no bigger than a fingernail.
A storage key.
Viktor stepped forward.
“Give it to me.”
Sloan looked at Carla.
Then at Matteo.
Matteo’s expression was controlled, but his eyes told her everything.
Trust me.
She dropped the key.
Viktor’s eyes followed it.
That was enough.
Matteo moved.
Gunfire exploded through the warehouse.
Arthur’s team came through the side entrance. Matteo grabbed Sloan and pulled her behind a concrete pillar as bullets tore into metal nearby.
Carla screamed.
Sloan broke free from Matteo’s grip.
“Carla!”
“I have her!” Arthur shouted.
Sloan saw Viktor running toward the loading dock.
She chased him.
“Sloan!” Matteo yelled.
But she was already gone.
Viktor pushed through a rusted door onto the riverfront platform. Rain pounded the metal beneath their feet.
He turned with a gun in his hand.
“You should have stayed dead,” he said.
Sloan stood ten feet away, unarmed.
“No,” she said. “You should have.”
Viktor raised the gun.
Then Matteo’s voice cut through the storm.
“Drop it.”
Viktor spun.
Matteo stood at the doorway, weapon aimed steadily.
For one moment, nobody moved.
Then Viktor smiled.
“You care about her.”
Matteo’s face stayed cold.
“Yes.”
Viktor fired.
Matteo shoved Sloan aside.
The bullet hit his shoulder.
Matteo staggered.
Sloan screamed.
Viktor turned to run.
Sloan caught him before he reached the stairs.
She drove her shoulder into his back, slammed him against the railing, and twisted his gun hand until the weapon dropped into the river below.
Viktor hit her hard across the face.
For a second, stars burst behind her eyes.
Then she remembered every foster home.
Every locked door.
Every night she had awakened believing the house was burning again.
She drove her knee into Viktor’s ribs, swept his legs out, and pinned him to the rain-soaked platform.
“You don’t get to own me,” she said.
Sirens rose in the distance.
Viktor looked up at her, furious and frightened.
May you like
For the first time in eighteen years, Sloan did not run.
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