Chapter 3 - DUST AND DISGUISE
The air in the security room turned ice-cold.
Matteo stepped forward, his eyes locked on the blinking device attached to the server. "Who installed that?"
"It requires root-level administrative access," Mia said, turning to look at the young guard sitting in the swivel chair. "Which means whoever put it there had the master passcode."
The young guard, whose name tag read Gavin, suddenly shoved his chair back, knocking his coffee mug to the floor. The ceramic shattered, dark liquid splashing across the concrete. Gavin bolted for the emergency exit at the rear of the basement.
"Stop him!" Carlo roared, reaching for his holster.
Before Carlo could even clear his leather strap, Mia moved.
Despite her earlier clumsiness, her physical execution was terrifyingly fast. She sprinted down the narrow aisle between the server racks, vaulted over a stack of storage crates, and launched herself through the air.
She collided with Gavin right at the exit door.
They crashed into the heavy metal frame together. Gavin spun around, swinging a heavy brass key ring at her face. Mia ducked under the wild strike, grabbed his wrist, twisted it upward with leverage, and slammed his shoulder flat against the wall.
Gavin let out a sharp cry of pain, his knees buckling as Mia pinned his arm behind his back with one hand, her other hand pinning his neck.
"Wrong move," Mia whispered in his ear.
Matteo and Carlo came running down the corridor, guns drawn.
Mia calmly forced Gavin down onto his knees, unhooking a pair of zip-ties from her own belt and securing his wrists tight behind his back. She reached into Gavin’s coat pocket and pulled out a burner phone, a set of master keycards, and a small tube of expensive lavender hand cream.
She popped the cap of the hand cream, took a quick sniff, and then pulled the death threat out of her jacket.
"Lavender," Mia said, holding the tube up for Carlo to see. "And gun oil. Same scent as the paper."
Carlo looked at Gavin, his face turning dark with fury. "Gavin... you idiot. You sold us out to Marco Ferretti?"
Gavin spat on the floor, glaring up at them through bruised eyes. "The DeLucas are finished! Marco offered me two hundred thousand to leave the server tap running for three hours tonight! You think I'm going to die for Lorenzo’s empire?"
"Where is the strike team coming from?" Matteo demanded, stepping close and grabbing Gavin by his collar. "Tell me!"
Gavin sneered. "Find out yourselves. The timer’s already running. At midnight, the front gates open remotely."
Mia checked her watch. 11:12 PM. They had forty-eight minutes.
"Carlo, lock him in the holding cell down the hall," Mia ordered smoothly, stepping back and adjusting her blazer.
Carlo didn't argue this time. He grabbed Gavin by the arm and dragged him away, looking thoroughly shaken.
Matteo turned to Mia, leaning back against the cool wall, staring at her with newfound respect. "You took him down in four seconds."
"Three," Mia corrected. "He was off-balance."
"My father called you soft," Matteo said, a faint, marveling smile playing on his lips. "I think he might be the worst judge of character on the East Coast."
"Your father judges people by their appearance," Mia said, checking the magazine of her concealed sidearm before snapping it back into place. "It's a common mistake made by powerful men. They think strength always wears a tailored suit and screams commands."
"And what does strength actually look like?" Matteo asked softly, stepping closer to her.
Mia met his gaze, her dark eyes clear and steady in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the basement. "It looks like someone who gets knocked down, brushes off the dirt, and finishes the job."
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Matteo chuckled, shaking his head. "We have forty-five minutes before an armed hit squad tries to breach the gates. What's the plan, Officer Callaway?"
"The plan," Mia said, turning back toward the main security console, "is to let them think their little plan is working. We don't turn off the tap. We feed them wrong information."
