Chapter 10 - RETURN TO SOUTH PHILLY
The black SUV tore through the rain-slicked streets of South Philadelphia without its headlights.
Luca drove like a madman, weaving between delivery trucks and jumping curbs to bypass police blockades.
In the backseat, I clutched my mother's briefcase while Matteo methodically loaded extra shotgun shells into his tactical vest.
"When we get there," Matteo said, his voice low and steady, "stay behind me. Do not speak. Do not move unless I tell you to."
"That's my apartment, Matteo. I know every floorboard, every squeaky stair."
"And Richard knows every bullet trajectory," Matteo countered sharply. "He's an ex-CIA operative turned syndicate cleaner. He's not some angry restaurant manager."
The SUV slid to a halt in the alley behind my dilapidated apartment building.
Darkness enveloped the four-story brick structure.
Only one window on the third floor glowed with a faint yellow light.
My apartment.
"Luca, secure the fire escape," Matteo ordered, opening his door.
"Got it, Boss."
We slipped out into the freezing rain.
The puddles splashed against my taped shoes as we crept toward the rusted side entrance.
The heavy wooden door hung slightly ajar, splintered around the lock.
Richard had already broken in.
We stepped inside the dark stairwell.
The air smelled of damp plaster and cheap cigarette smoke.
Every step creaked loudly under our weight.
I swallowed hard, my palms slick with sweat.
We reached the third-floor landing.
Door 3B was open wide.
Inside, my small living room was completely destroyed.
Books ripped apart.
Couch cushions slashed open.
Family photos smashed on the hardwood floor.
And sitting at my small kitchen table, calmly sipping a cup of coffee, was Richard Collins.
He wore a black tactical turtleneck and held a silenced pistol resting casually on the Formica tabletop.
"Welcome home, Tessa," Richard said without looking up. "I was beginning to think you got lost."
Matteo stepped into the doorway, raising his shotgun directly at Richard's chest.
"End of the line, Richard."
Richard finally looked up.
He didn't look scared.
He looked amused.
"Matteo Moretti," Richard smiled. "The prodigal son. You really think you can walk out of here alive?"
Richard slowly turned his head toward the hallway behind him.
"Bring her out."
A figure stepped from my small bedroom into the flickering light.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was Jenna.
My coworker from Bellaforte.
May you like
With a cold, steel barrel pressed firmly against her trembling temple.
THE END OF CHAPTER 10
