Chapter 5 – THE PIER AND THE POISON VIAL

“They set the catering van on fire,” I whispered, staring at the photo. In the background of the image, small orange flames were licking the floorboards of the van parked right outside my house.

Adrian slammed the brakes. We were only half a block away.

“Sloane is in there,” I said, panic rising.

Adrian looked back through the rearview mirror. The glow of the fire was beginning to reflect off the suburban houses.

Sloane had lied. She had stolen. She had brought a cartel into his home and insulted my family. She deserved to go to prison.

But she didn’t deserve to burn to death.

“Stay in the car,” Adrian commanded.

He threw the SUV in reverse, speeding backward down the street. He slammed to a halt, leaped out, and sprinted toward the burning van.

I didn’t listen. I jumped out and followed him.

The heat was already intense. Sloane was unconscious, her head slumped against the steering wheel, her hands zip-tied. The flames were eating through the passenger seats.

Adrian used the butt of his gun to shatter the driver’s side window. He reached in, unlocked the door, and yanked it open. With a pocket knife, he slashed the zip-ties and pulled her out just as the dashboard caught fire.

He dragged her across the lawn, laying her on the cold grass.

Sloane coughed violently, her eyes fluttering open. When she saw Adrian, she shrank back in terror.

“You saved me,” she sobbed, her emerald gown ruined with soot.

“Don’t mistake mercy for forgiveness,” Adrian said coldly. “Why did Marcus leave you here?”

“Because Dominic doesn’t need me anymore,” Sloane choked out. “I was just the bait to get you out of the house. Marcus has my mother.”

“And Francesca’s son is at Pier 4,” Adrian said. “I’m ending this tonight.”

He stood up, but Sloane grabbed his ankle.

“Adrian, wait!” she cried. “Dominic isn’t at the pier! He’s at the mansion!”

Adrian froze. “What?”

“The boy is at the pier with the guards,” Sloane wept. “But Dominic is at your house. He’s going to force your signature on the dock deeds, and then he’s going to execute my mother.”

The reversal hit us hard. We were being pulled in two different directions. The nephew Adrian had never met was at the docks. The elderly woman who had sacrificed her dignity for her daughter was at the mansion with the boss of the Rossi syndicate.

Adrian looked at the burning van, then at the city skyline.

“Grace,” Adrian said, turning to me. “Do you know exactly where the security blind spots are at Pier 4?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I remember the service tunnels.”

Adrian pulled a spare earpiece from his tactical vest and handed it to me. Then, he handed me a small, heavy black object. A backup pistol.

“Mr. Bellucci, I’ve never fired a gun,” I said, my hands shaking.

“You don’t have to fire it. You just have to show it,” Adrian said. “I’m calling in my loyal men to meet you at the docks. You guide them through the tunnels. Get my nephew.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m going home,” Adrian said, his eyes dark with vengeance. “I have to save Mrs. Keene.”

Before we could move, Sloane let out a horrible, gasping wheeze.

She convulsed on the grass, clutching her stomach. Black veins began to web up her neck.

“Sloane!” I dropped to my knees beside her.

She grabbed my apron, her eyes wide with unimaginable pain. “He… he didn’t just leave me to burn,” she gasped. “Marcus… gave me a drink before he left.”

Adrian knelt beside her. “What did he give you?”

Sloane reached into the bodice of her ruined gown with a trembling hand. She pulled out a small, shattered glass vial.

“Aconite,” she whispered, blood dripping from her lips. “The wolf’s bane. Dominic’s signature.”

Adrian recognized it instantly. It was a rare, incredibly fast-acting neurotoxin.

“Where is the antidote?” Adrian demanded, holding her shoulders.

“Dominic,” she choked out. “He keeps it… on his necklace. In a silver cylinder. Adrian… please… save my mother.”

Her eyes rolled back, and she went completely still.

I checked her pulse. It was there, but incredibly faint. She was slipping into a coma.

Adrian stood up. The mission had just escalated from a rescue to a race against time. We had less than an hour before Sloane’s heart stopped forever.

He looked at me. “Save my nephew, Grace.”

“Save Mrs. Keene,” I replied.

He threw himself into the SUV and sped toward the estate. I turned and ran toward the main avenue to meet Adrian’s extraction team.

But as I reached the street corner, a black sedan pulled out of the alleyway, blocking my path. The back door swung open.

Sitting inside was a woman with dark hair and a pale, exhausted face.

It was Francesca Bellucci.

“Get in, Grace,” Francesca said, holding a heavy assault rifle across her lap. “We have a harbor to burn.”

Share