Chapter 3 - Blood Under Door 1408The black Escalade tore through Chicago rain at ninety miles per hour.
Luca drove.
He didn't hit the brakes once.
Michael sat in the passenger seat, barking orders into two different phones.
I sat in the back.
My fingers dug into the black leather upholstery.
Outside, neon streetlights blurred into streaks of red and blue.
“Security feed is down on fourteen,” Michael said.
He slammed his tablet against his thigh.
“Someone cut the fiber cables in the riser closet.”
“Vanessa had the floor plans,” Luca said.
His knuckles were bone white on the steering wheel.
“She knew every blind spot.”
“Boss, what if it's an ambush?” Michael asked.
Luca didn't flinch.
“Then someone dies tonight.”
We pulled up to the Grand Moretti Hotel five minutes later.
The lobby was in chaos.
Fire alarms screeched like dying animals.
Strobe lights flashed blinding white across the marble walls.
Dozens of guests in bathrobes were pouring out into the street.
Hotel staff tried to direct the crowd with umbrellas.
Luca walked through the revolving doors like a battering ram.
He didn't wait for the elevators.
He kicked open the heavy emergency staircase door.
“Fourteen floors,” Luca commanded.
“Move.”
My lungs burned by the fifth floor.
By the ninth, my legs felt like lead.
Michael was wheezing beside me.
Luca moved like an iron machine.
He climbed two steps at a time.
His gun remained resting against his right thigh.
When we hit the fourteenth floor, the air smelled wrong.
It wasn't smoke.
It was copper.
And ozone.
The fire sprinklers hadn't activated up here.
The hallway was pitch black.
Emergency exit signs cast eerie red shadows across the patterned carpet.
Luca held up a fist.
We stopped.
Water dripped somewhere in the darkness.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Luca reached into his jacket and pulled out a tactical flashlight.
He clicked it on.
The narrow beam cut through the darkness.
On the floor, ten yards ahead, lay two men in black suits.
Hotel security guards.
They weren't moving.
Puddles of dark red blood pooled beneath their chests.
Michael stifled a gasp.
I slapped a hand over my mouth.
My stomach heaved violently.
“Suppressed weapons,” Luca whispered.
“Professional work.”
He stepped over the bodies without looking down.
He walked straight toward door 1408.
The door was slightly ajar.
A sliver of dim yellow light leaked out into the dark hallway.
Luca raised his pistol.
He placed his boot against the door frame.
With one violent kick, he threw the door open.
“Matteo!” Luca roared.
Nothing moved inside.
Luca cleared the foyer with quick, lethal movements.
“Clear,” he muttered.
Michael and I stepped inside.
The suite was massive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the stormy Chicago skyline.
The furniture was overturned.
Drawers were ripped out of dressers.
Papers were scattered across the floor like autumn leaves.
On the glass coffee table sat a half-eaten steak.
Beside it lay an open pack of unbanded cigarettes.
And an empty glass of bourbon.
The cigarette in the crystal ashtray was still smoldering.
A thin coil of blue smoke drifted toward the ceiling.
“He was here five minutes ago,” Michael said.
Luca walked over to the desk.
He picked up a piece of paper pinned to the wood with a steak knife.
The handwriting was jagged.
Desperate.
Luca read it aloud:
“You should have looked under your own bed, brother. The Bellinis never belonged to you.”
Luca’s expression darkened into stone.
“Look around,” Luca commanded us.
“Find anything digital. Hard drives, phones, receipts.”
Michael rushed to the bedroom closet.
I walked toward the corner desk.
I noticed something under the baseboard.
A small blue light.
Blinking rhythmically.
I dropped to my knees on the damp carpet.
I pulled back the edge of the desk trim.
It wasn't a hard drive.
It was a remote transmitter wired to a digital timer.
The red numbers on the display were counting down.
00:42.
00:41.
00:40.
My voice caught in my throat.
I couldn't scream.
I grabbed Michael’s ankle.
“Michael!” I choked out.
Michael looked down at me.
Then he saw the blinking red digits.
“Luca!” Michael screamed.
Luca spun around.
May you like
The timer clicked down to thirty seconds.
And from behind the heavy velvet curtains, the click of a shotgun echoed through the suite.
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