Page 168 of Freed
Birdie
By dawn, I’m exhausted, scared, and about ready to tackle one of the guards to get the heck out of this penthouse. I haven’t slept.
I haven’t even really sat.
I’ve paced until my legs ached, watched the skyline go from midnight black to bruised violet to a washed-out gray that makes the whole city look tired. That silence is starting to feel alive. Like something waiting in the walls.
The two women stationed near the elevator exchange a look when I drift too close again.
“Miss Miller,” one says gently, “please sit.”
I laugh. “If I sit down, I might actually lose my mind.”
She doesn’t smile. No one in this penthouse has smiled since Francesca left. I stop near the windows and wrap my arms around myself. My reflection in the glass looks worse than I feel.
I try Lorenzo again on the borrowed phone. It goes straight to voicemail. A cold, sick feeling spreads through me. What if he never got the message?
What if he did?
What if he got there too late?
My throat tightens until it aches. I don’t realize I’m crying until I taste salt.
Then the elevator chimes. The sound cuts through the room like a blade. All three of us freeze. For one wild, stupid second, relief surges so hard it nearly takes my knees out from under me. It has to be Lorenzo.
One of the guards moves first, hand dropping to the gun at her hip as the elevator doors slide open.
Who steps out is not Lorenzo. It’s Federico Marino. He’s alone. And he already has a gun in his hand.
Everything inside me turns to ice.
The guard nearest the elevator reaches for her weapon. He shoots her before she clears leather. The sound explodes through the penthouse. I scream and stumble backward as she drops hard to the floor. The second guard fires at once, but Federico is already moving, proving that old men in Lorenzo’s world stay alive because they learned to kill before they learned to shave.
She goes down too.
Then it’s just him and me.
The living room that felt like a cage five minutes ago now feels like a trap with no walls at all. He turns those cold, old eyes on me and smiles.
“Miss Miller.”
My body locks. He starts walking toward me, measured and calm, gun low at his side like this is a social call and not the end of my life.
“You should have stayed in Italy where I left you,” he says. “It would have been kinder than this.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.
“You’re insane.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugs. “But I was willing to let you disappearquietly. You made things messy.”
I back away step by step, toward the windows, toward nowhere. “Francesca sent you?”
“No. Francesca disappointed me, just as she always does. But, that’s fine. I’m here to make sure Conti’s life is destroyed and that starts with you and that thing in your stomach.”
Something inside me goes very still.
He lifts the gun. Not at my head.
