Chapter 4 - The St. Regis Siege
The black convoy moved through the midnight streets of Manhattan like predatory sharks through dark water. Rain lashed against the tinted windows of the lead Escalade, where Alessandro sat beside Elena, his fingers laced tightly with hers.
Across from them sat Dante, a hulking man with a scarred neck who checked the action on a modified submachine gun with mechanical calm.
“Vale has the entire fourteenth-floor penthouse suite under private security,” Dante reported, looking up from a tablet displaying the building’s blueprints. “Four men inside the suite. Two in the elevator vestibule. Emergency stairwells are monitored by his second-in-command, a piece of shit named Grigori.”
“Kill the elevator cameras,” Alessandro ordered without looking away from Elena. “Take the power grid down on the fourteenth floor thirty seconds after Elena enters the room. Suppressed weapons only. I don't want NYPD crawling through the lobby while we’re extracting the boy.”
“Understood,” Dante said, tapping his earpiece to relay the orders.
The convoy pulled into the alley adjacent to the hotel’s service entrance. The city lights smeared across the wet asphalt in streaks of neon gold and red.
Alessandro reached into his coat and pulled out a small, flat earpiece, tucking it gently into Elena’s right ear, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of her earlobe.
“You can hear me, but keep your voice down,” he instructed, his eyes searching hers. “You take the duffel bag. You hand it to Vale. You do not argue. You step toward the child, get him behind you, and drop to the floor the moment the lights die. Do you hear me? Drop.”
“I hear you,” Elena breathed. Her hands were cold, but her pulse was steady.
Alessandro leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Thirty seconds, Elena. That’s all the time Vale has left on this earth.”
Elena nodded, grabbed the heavy canvas duffel bag, and slipped out of the vehicle into the rain.
She walked through the service entrance, showing the counterfeit staff pass Dante had provided, and took the service elevator straight to the fourteenth floor. Every floor ding felt like a hammer strike against her chest. When the doors slid open, the carpeted corridor was silent, save for the hum of the HVAC unit.
Two men in dark suits stepped forward immediately, hands hovering near their armpits.
“Open the bag,” one grunted.
Elena didn’t flinch. She unzipped the top, revealing the pristine stacks of green bills. “Forty thousand. Take me to Vale.”
The men exchanged a look, frisked her quickly—missing the tiny receiver in her ear—and escorted her down the long hall to Suite 1402.
The double doors swung open into an opulent living room. Standing by the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the rainy grid of New York, was Marcus Vale. He was fifty, gaunt, with slicked-back silver hair and the cold, dead eyes of a vulture.
On the velvet sofa in the center of the room sat Lena Carter, pale, gaunt, her head covered in a soft knit beanie to hide the hair lost from chemotherapy. Clutched tightly in her lap was Noah—a little boy in dinosaur pajamas, clutching a battered stuffed bear, his wide, dark eyes filled with silent dread.
“Ellie!” Noah cried, his little voice trembling.
“Stay there, baby,” Elena said, her voice remarkably calm. She stepped forward, ignoring Marcus Vale entirely as she met Lena’s tear-filled eyes. “I have it, Lena. It’s over.”
“Ah, the devoted friend,” Marcus Vale purred, turning from the glass. He gestured to one of his goons, who snatched the duffel bag from Elena’s hand and unzipped it. “And right on time. How delightful to know that Matteo’s taste in women extended to such loyal companions.”
“The money is there,” Elena said, stepping closer to the couch, positioning her body between Vale’s men and the sofa. “Let them go.”
Vale laughed, a dry, rattling sound. “Let them go? My dear girl, do you really think I brought Matteo Moretti’s bastard to New York just to collect forty measly grand?”
In her ear, Alessandro’s voice was a low, terrifying whisper: *Ten seconds. Cover the boy.*
“What do you want?” Elena asked, taking another step, her hands reaching out to press Noah’s head down against the cushions.
“I want Alessandro Moretti on his knees,” Vale said, drawing a chrome-plated revolver from his waistband. “And with this boy, I will have him. The Hales have already delivered Moretti’s warehouse manifests. Tomorrow, the Moretti family ceases to exist.”
*Five seconds,* Alessandro’s voice hissed. *Now, Elena.*
Elena didn’t wait. She lunged forward, throwing her entire weight over Noah and Lena, wrapping her arms around the child like a human shield.
“What the—” Vale started.
*Snap.*
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The entire floor plunged into pitch-black darkness.
***
