Chapter 5
Before Lorenzo could turn toward the private elevator, a sharp, metallic click echoed from the heavy oak door of the study. The sound was unmistakable—the latch of the hallway security panel being engaged from the outside. Someone had overridden the electronic lock. Lorenzo froze, his hand dropping back to the concealed weapon beneath his grey suit jacket. He gestured sharply for Elena to stay behind the heavy oak desk, his eyes scanning the room for a secondary exit. There was none; the study was a dead end, designed intentionally to project an image of absolute control, now transformed into a potential trap.
"Lorenzo?" Elena whispered, her voice tight with renewed panic. "What is that?"
"Stay down," he commanded in a low, unwavering tone.
The heavy door slowly swung open, revealing the dim light of the penthouse corridor. Standing in the doorway was Victor. The security chief looked composed, dressed in a sharp black tactical turtleneck, his expression entirely devoid of the loyal deference he usually displayed. In his right hand, he held a suppressed pistol, the matte black finish absorbing the amber light of the desk lamp. Behind him, two armed men in plainclothes blocked the hallway, their silhouettes looming large against the white marble walls of the living room.
"Going somewhere, boss?" Victor asked, his voice disturbingly calm as he stepped across the threshold into the study.
Lorenzo didn't flinch. He kept his posture relaxed, though every muscle in his body was coiled like a steel spring. "Victor. I thought better of you. After everything we’ve been through, you’re taking orders from Marcus?"
"Marcus is just a middleman, Lorenzo," Victor replied, taking another measured step forward, the muzzle of his pistol pointed steadily at the center of Lorenzo’s chest. "The syndicate is restructuring. The old ways—relying on loyalty and street honor—are dead. The new buyers want a clean break, and that means tying up all loose ends. Starting with you."
Elena’s sharp intake of breath gave away her hiding spot behind the desk. Victor’s eyes flicked downward for a fraction of a second, registering her presence with a cold, detached smile.
May you like
"Ah, and Madame Elena as well," Victor said smoothly. "How fortunate that you’re both here. It saves us the trouble of hunting you down across the city later tonight."
Lorenzo calculated the distance between them. Twelve feet. Too far to disarm Victor before the suppressed weapon could cycle a round. He needed a distraction, a momentary lapse in the security chief's hyper-focused concentration. His eyes darted to the heavy glass ashtray resting on the corner of the oak desk. If he could time it right, he might just buy them the seconds they desperately needed to reach the emergency drop-chute hidden behind the bookshelf.
