Chapter 7 - THE COP WHO SOLD HIS BADGE
The first thing fire steals is time.
One second you're evaluating smoke.
The next you're calculating whether the ceiling will remain above you long enough to reach a door.
Marcus fired twice into the locking mechanism.
Nothing.
"Reinforced."
Damian grabbed a wooden bench and slammed it against a side window.
Stained glass shattered outward.
Cold air rushed in.
So did a bullet.
Damian jerked backward.
My heart stopped.
"Damian!"
"I'm fine."
He wasn't.
Blood spread across his upper arm.
Marcus returned fire through the broken window.
"Two outside. Maybe three."
Smoke thickened behind us.
I grabbed the metal box.
Damian looked at me.
"Leave it."
"No."
"Elena."
"Your father died protecting it."
"He died because of it."
"So did mine."
That silenced him.
Marcus kicked away more broken glass.
"Exit. Now."
The window was four feet above the floor.
Damian lifted me despite his injured arm.
"You're bleeding."
"I noticed."
"Put me down."
"Outside."
I climbed through.
Marcus followed with the box.
Damian came last.
We landed behind a stone wall bordering the cemetery.
Gunfire cracked through trees.
Pierce wasn't trying to arrest us.
He was trying to erase us.
"Vehicles are compromised," Marcus said.
"South gate," Damian answered.
"That's half a mile."
"Then we walk."
"We're not walking with your arm like that," I said.
Damian looked at me as if I'd suggested we order pizza.
"I'm capable."
"Blood is dripping off your fingers."
"It's a graze."
"That's still blood."
Marcus caught my eye.
"It's mostly a graze."
"Mostly?"
"Move."
We ran between tombstones.
Behind us, the chapel windows glowed orange.
My lungs burned.
I had never considered myself athletic, but terror is apparently an excellent personal trainer.
At the south wall, Marcus led us through a maintenance shed.
A cemetery truck sat inside.
Keys hung from a hook.
Damian stared at them.
"Convenient."
Marcus grabbed the keys.
"Take it up with God."
We escaped in a truck that smelled like mulch.
No one spoke until the cemetery disappeared behind us.
Then Damian's phone rang.
One of his people.
Marcus answered.
His face darkened.
"Say again."
A pause.
"When?"
Another pause.
He looked at Damian.
"Anthony hit the clinic."
My stomach collapsed.
"Daniel?"
Marcus listened.
Then:
"Gone."
I couldn't breathe.
Damian turned toward me.
"Elena—"
"They took him?"
"Yes."
"Was anyone killed?"
"Two guards injured. Doctor's alive."
"Daniel?"
"We don't know."
I pressed my forehead against the cold window.
This was because of me.
No.
Because of Daniel.
No.
Because of Anthony.
Because of men who had spent years turning families into leverage.
Damian seemed to know where my thoughts were going.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Take responsibility for decisions Anthony made."
"I brought Daniel into this."
"Daniel entered this seven years ago."
"He's still my brother."
"I know."
"You don't."
Something snapped in my voice.
Damian went silent.
I immediately hated myself.
His father had been murdered.
He had just stood beside his mother's grave while someone tried to burn him alive.
He knew.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I shouldn't have said that."
"You were right."
"No."
He looked through the windshield.
"I know what it's like to have a brother."
I turned.
"You have a brother?"
"Had."
Marcus's hands tightened on the wheel.
Damian continued.
"Luca. Younger by five years."
"What happened?"
"Anthony."
The name landed differently now.
"When?"
"Three years after my father died."
I waited.
Damian stared at the blood soaking his sleeve.
"Luca wanted out. College in California. Different name. Different life."
"Anthony killed him?"
"Anthony arranged a robbery at a gas station Luca stopped at on the drive west."
My chest hurt.
"I'm sorry."
"He was twenty-two."
Marcus spoke quietly.
"We knew it was a hit. Couldn't prove it."
Damian leaned back.
"That's why Anthony isn't trying to take my organization."
"What is he trying to do?"
"Erase my family."
The answer explained something.
The obsession.
His mother.
His father.
His brother.
And now me.
Maybe Anthony believed families were where powerful men became vulnerable.
He wasn't wrong.
By evening, we were inside another safe property in Queens.
A doctor stitched Damian's arm.
He didn't flinch.
I stood beside the window calling Daniel's phone every ten minutes.
No answer.
At eight thirty-seven, it rang.
I nearly dropped it.
"Daniel?"
Anthony answered.
"Hello, Elena."
I gripped the phone.
"Where is he?"
"Alive."
"Let me hear him."
A rustle.
Then Daniel's voice.
"Elena."
I closed my eyes.
"I'm here."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
Anthony returned.
"Touching."
"What do you want?"
"You know."
"The ledgers."
"And the drives."
"No."
Damian looked at me sharply.
Anthony laughed.
"You've learned confidence."
"I've learned you lie."
"Daniel isn't bulletproof."
"Neither are you."
The room went completely still.
Even Marcus looked at me.
Anthony's voice cooled.
"Midnight tomorrow. Pier 18."
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't."
"Then we need terms."
"Terms?"
"Proof Daniel is alive before we arrive. No snipers. No Pierce."
Anthony laughed again.
"You're negotiating with me?"
"I've served investment bankers after three bottles of Burgundy. You're not the most arrogant man I've dealt with."
Marcus turned away to hide a grin.
Damian stared at me like I was a puzzle.
Anthony's silence lasted several seconds.
"Midnight."
The call ended.
Damian immediately said, "You're not going."
"Daniel is."
"We'll extract him."
"How?"
"That's what Marcus does."
Marcus nodded.
"It's sort of my thing."
"No."
Damian's eyes narrowed.
"No?"
"Anthony expects your men."
"Exactly why—"
"He doesn't expect me."
"He absolutely expects you. He asked for you."
"He expects scared Elena Marlowe carrying a box because her brother's life depends on it."
"That's exactly what you are."
I stepped closer.
"No. That's what he thinks I am."
Damian stopped.
I pointed to the ledgers.
"Anthony has spent years underestimating people he thinks are beneath him. My father. Daniel. Me."
"And?"
"We give him what he wants."
Marcus frowned.
"The real ledgers?"
"Copies."
Damian studied me.
"What are you thinking?"
"At Volante, Anthony left the private room once."
"To make a call."
"Maybe."
I replayed the night.
Anthony had been seated near the curtain.
When he returned, he'd brushed against me.
Apologized.
Then he'd asked Damian whether Detroit had checked in.
No.
The younger man asked that.
Anthony had mostly listened.
He was careful.
Invisible.
Like a server.
That thought changed everything.
"He understands invisibility," I said.
Damian frowned.
"What?"
"Anthony survived inside your organization because nobody watches the person they believe belongs in the background."
Marcus's expression shifted.
I continued.
"He thinks I'm background."
Damian shook his head.
"Not anymore."
"To you, maybe."
The words hung between us longer than I intended.
His gaze changed.
Softer.
Dangerously softer.
I looked away.
Marcus cleared his throat.
"So what's the plan?"
I told them.
For ten minutes nobody interrupted.
When I finished, Marcus smiled.
"She's terrifying."
Damian did not.
"No."
"Damian—"
"No."
"You don't have another plan."
"I have several."
"Do any get Daniel out without starting a dockside war?"
Silence.
I stepped closer.
"You said Anthony uses families as leverage."
"Yes."
"Then stop letting him decide what family means."
His eyes locked with mine.
For one second, everything else disappeared.
Then Marcus's phone rang.
He answered.
His face drained of humor.
"What?"
He put the call on speaker.
A man's panicked voice filled the room.
"Boss, Pierce just issued an alert."
"What alert?" Damian asked.
The answer came quickly.
"Elena Marlowe is wanted for the murder of Noah Vance."
I stared at them.
The voice continued.
"And it gets worse."
"How?"
"Security footage just hit every news station."
A television switched on across the room.
There I was.
Grainy footage from Volante.
Walking toward Noah Vance thirty minutes before the shooting.
Except I had never done that.
Then a second clip appeared.
My face.
My coat.
My body.
Passing him an envelope.
The anchor called it breaking news.
I couldn't move.
Damian stepped toward the screen.
"Fake."
Marcus nodded.
"Good fake."
On television, Detective Owen Pierce faced cameras.
"We believe Ms. Marlowe may be armed and dangerous."
May you like
Then Pierce looked directly into the lens.
And smiled.
