Chapter 4 - Infiltration at the Plaza
The sleet was turning to hard ice against the bulletproof windows of my armored Maybach as we pulled into the subterranean service bay of the Plaza Hotel at 11:15 PM.
Dante sat in the passenger seat, tapping away at a tactical laptop, while Hunter sat beside me in the back, wearing a crisp white catering blouse, black trousers, and a discreet earpiece connected to our encrypted comms channel.
"Remember," I instructed quietly, adjusting my cufflinks as I looked over at her. "You are not a warrior. You are a ghost. Once you're inside the service elevator, head straight for the VIP antechamber behind the main ballroom. Bellamy always retires there between speeches to review his financial portfolios."
"I know the layout," Hunter nodded, securing her service pass badge to her lapel—a pass provided by her sister fifteen minutes ago at the loading dock checkpoint. "And I have the micro-transmitter ready."
"If anything goes wrong—if so much as a guard looks at you sideways—you press the panic button on the comms link," I said, my voice brooking no argument. "Dante and a four-man tactical team will breach the service stairwell within sixty seconds."
"I won't need sixty seconds," Hunter said, opening the door and stepping out into the cold concrete garage.
I watched her walk toward the service elevator banks, her shoulders squared, carrying herself with an unexpected, fierce dignity. She didn't look like a grieving mother or a frightened housekeeper anymore. She looked like a soldier stepping onto a battlefield.
"She's got ice in her veins, boss," Dante muttered, watching her disappear into the elevator. "Reminds me of Sophia."
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The mention of my late wife tightened a knot in my chest that had never truly dissolved. Sophia had possessed that same quiet, unbreakable courage—the kind of strength that didn't need to shout to be terrifying.
"Let's move," I said, opening my door. "We go in through the freight lobby. Quietly."
