Chapter 1
Nobody touched Trent.
That was Alessio’s first order.
The burnt steak remained across Trent’s chest while sauce slowly soaked into the expensive fabric of his suit.
He tried to push himself upright beneath the fallen wine rack.
Alessio looked at him once.
Trent stopped.
The room had known Alessio for decades.
His anger was dangerous.
His silence was worse.
Sylvia stood beside the dining table with one arm in the sling.
Her good hand was shaking so badly she could not close her fingers.
Alessio noticed.
His expression changed immediately.
He crossed the room and stopped in front of her.
“Look at me.”
His voice was low.
Sylvia lifted her eyes.
The fear in them was not directed toward him.
It kept moving toward the staircase.
Alessio followed her gaze.
“What’s upstairs?”
Her lips parted.
Nothing came.
Helen stepped forward.
“She’s exhausted.”
Alessio turned his head.
Helen stopped moving.
Her pearls rose and fell against her throat with each breath.
Alessio looked back at Sylvia.
“You don't have to protect anyone in this room.”
Sylvia’s eyes filled.
“I’m not protecting him.”
Her voice broke.
“I’m scared of what happens if he gets upstairs.”
Trent’s hand tightened against the floor.
Alessio saw it.
“What’s upstairs?”
Again.
This time Sylvia answered.
“His office.”
Trent stood too quickly.
One bodyguard immediately moved between them.
Trent’s jaw flexed.
“My private office has nothing to do with my marriage.”
Sylvia flinched at the word marriage.
Alessio noticed that too.
He turned back to her.
“What did you see?”
Sylvia’s breathing became shallow.
“Last night I woke up because he wasn’t in bed.”
Her good hand curled around the edge of her sling.
“I heard him talking upstairs.”
Trent’s face hardened.
Helen whispered:
“Sylvia.”
Alessio’s eyes cut toward her.
Helen went silent.
Sylvia continued.
“He said Gate Nine had to be open before midnight.”
Alessio stopped moving.
Gate Nine belonged to one place.
The Grimaldi freight terminal on the South Boston waterfront.
A secure entry used only for unregistered after-hours convoys.
Very few people even knew it existed.
Sylvia swallowed.
“He said once you left for Montreal next week, nobody would stop the transfer.”
Trent laughed.
The sound came dry.
“She was half asleep.”
Alessio looked at him.
Trent’s smile faded.
Sylvia continued.
“I opened the office door.”
Her eyes dropped toward her sling.
“He saw me.”
A pause.
“That’s when he locked me in.”
Alessio looked at her injured arm.
“How did this happen?”
Sylvia’s lips trembled.
Trent spoke first.
“She fell.”
Alessio turned.
His face remained calm.
“That question wasn't yours.”
Trent’s breathing deepened.
Sylvia closed her eyes.
“He twisted it when I tried to get past him.”
Helen looked down.
Not surprised.
Alessio saw that.
His voice became softer.
“You knew.”
Helen’s head rose.
“I knew they had problems.”
“No.”
Alessio glanced at Sylvia’s sling.
“You knew that.”
Helen said nothing.
That silence carried its own answer.
Alessio removed his phone.
“Search Trent’s office.”
Trent surged forward.
“Don't.”
Every bodyguard moved.
Alessio did not.
He simply watched Trent.
There was fear now.
Real fear.
Not of the punch.
Not of losing Sylvia.
Of the office.
Ten minutes later a bodyguard returned carrying a small brass key.
“Found this taped beneath his desk.”
Trent’s face changed.
Sylvia looked at it.
Then at her brother.
“That’s the key I saw last night.”
Alessio held it between two fingers.
“What does it open?”
Trent said nothing.
The bodyguard placed a second item onto the table.
A laminated access card.
GATE 9 — MASTER OVERRIDE.
Alessio looked at Trent.
Then another bodyguard entered.
“Boss…”
His voice was different.
“We checked the terminal.”
Alessio turned.
“Gate Nine was opened forty-three minutes ago.”
May you like
Trent was still standing in the dining room.
Which meant someone else had already begun the operation without him.
