Page 42 of The Assassin's Captive
I know I want this man despite my better judgment. And in a world like the one into which I've been dragged, it pays to have an ally. If Lorenzo Santoro's weakness is the spot between my thighs, I can use it. Maybe not to get him to let me go, but he said it himself—I need allies, strong ones.
"Yeah," he grunts, pulling out and letting my feet fall to the floor.
"And you still want me?" I don't let him pull away. I keep my hands draped around his shoulders.
"I'm a cursed man, Serena. I know what you're thinking, but you'll destroy us both." His lips are so close to mine, I can feel his breath dance over my heated skin.
"Or save us…" I whisper, and it seals our fate.
If I'm useful to Costa and I have a powerful ally like Lorenzo, I may just survive this. And if not, at least I'll know I went down fighting.
I just have to keep Lorenzo happy and wanting me. That should be simple enough.
19
LORENZO
The alley behind Sant’ Andrea della Valle reeks of garbage and piss. Rain from earlier has pooled in the uneven cobblestones, reflecting the weak light from a single streetlamp twenty meters away. I check my watch. 11:47 p.m. Cristiano Laera is two minutes late.
When we agreed to meet, he tried to back out, telling me he couldn't help. But I reminded him how this works. If Rome's most powerful crime families are being hunted down by people on his side of the line, everyone is a target. It's in his best interests to make a friend on my side who can protect him. I'm just glad I got to him before someone else did.
Footsteps bounce off the narrow walls at a slow gait. The man who emerges from the shadows looks every day of his fifty-three years—thinning hair, nervous eyes, clothes that have seen better decades. Court clerks don't make enough to dress well, even when they're selling information on the side.
"Santoro." His voice shakes slightly. "You came alone."
"As promised." I keep my hands visible, though the Beretta sits ready under my jacket. "You have what I need?"
Laera glances over his shoulder, then back to me. "Three crews know about the girl's identity. The Bianchis got word two days ago. The Torrianis yesterday. The Russos…" He swallows hard. "The Russos sent someone to scout your neighborhood three days ago, late morning."
My blood turns cold as I remember the man in my yard and the retired detective next door—Silvano Petrini. So it wasn't a coincidence. If the Russos are already that close, the situation has deteriorated faster than I anticipated.
"How did they find out where she is?"
"Who knows. Maybe someone watched you take her from the hospital or maybe they've just been watching you." Laera's hands tremble as he lights a cigarette. "Word is spreading through the families. They all want a piece of the prosecutor." The cherry glows bright as he takes a drag, and I scowl.
"Who else knows?"
"Everyone who matters. By tomorrow, every crew in Rome will be positioning themselves." He takes a shaky drag. "That's why I need out. Tonight."
I study his face in the dim light. Fear makes people unpredictable, but it also makes them desperate enough to be useful. "What do you want?"
"Fifty thousand euros. Clean papers—passport, identity documents, the works. Transport to somewhere Costa's reach doesn't extend." His cigarette glows red in the darkness as he gestures with his hand while he speaks. The man is a coward, running before the situation even heats up, but he's my only shot. He knows how to get what I need.
"In exchange, you help me with whatever I need from inside the courthouse from the evidence locker." My shoulders are squared and stiff, but all he's looking at are the whites of my eyes as he gawks up at me.
His eyes widen. "The Barone case files? That's federal property—high security."
"You have access."
"I have keys to most of the building, yes, but?—"
"Then we have a deal." I step closer, close enough to smell the fear sweat on him. "But I need those files tonight. Before the other families make their moves."
"Goddammit," Laera hisses and drops his cigarette and crushes it under his heel. "The security guard makes rounds every two hours." I can tell he's reluctant, but even he knows it's his only option. The Russos will have him strung up on a flag pole before dawn if they hear a whisper of his name.
"I'm not asking," I tell him, and his shoulders drop.
"Building's empty except for that one guard after midnight, but I got a family, man…"
