Chapter 6 - The Safehouse in the Hills
The armored SUV cut through the winding mountain roads two hours before dawn, its headlights slicing through the thick alpine fog.
Paul Marino drove in absolute silence, while Victor sat in the back beside me, his laptop glowing in the dark interior as he rapidly decrypted the data drive we recovered from Lucas.
“We’re heading to the cabin in Pine Ridge,” Paul announced over the partition. “Completely off the grid. No satellite telemetry, no local police jurisdiction that the syndicate hasn't bought off.”
“Good,” Victor replied without looking up from his screen. “Make sure the perimeter mines are armed.”
I gasped, staring at him. “Mines? You have landmines around a cabin?”
“Standard security protocol for when a civil war breaks out,” Victor said dryly, finally closing his laptop screen with a soft click. He turned his attention to me, noticing the way I was shivering in my seat. He unzipped his heavy wool overcoat and draped it over my shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body.
“Thank you,” I whispered, pulling the coat tight around myself.
“You shouldn't have been dragged into this,” Victor said, his voice carrying a rare, heavy note of regret. “When I made the deal with your brother, you were supposed to be a temporary ledger entry. A few hours of labor to balance the books. Not a target for an assassin's bullet.”
“If I hadn't been there, you would have bled out on that Persian rug,” I pointed out softly.
Victor looked at me, a faint, melancholic smile touching his lips. “That is also true.”
An hour later, the SUV turned off the paved highway onto a rugged dirt logging road, finally coming to a stop in front of a secluded, timber-built cabin nestled deep within a dense pine forest. The windows were shuttered with heavy iron plates, and smoke curled lazily from the stone chimney.
Inside, the cabin was rustic and warm. A massive stone fireplace dominated the living room, and the air smelled of cedar wood and old paper.
“Paul, secure the perimeter and check the communications relay,” Victor ordered as soon as we stepped inside.
“Boss,” Paul hesitated, glancing toward me before looking back at Victor. “There’s something you need to see on the encrypted wire. Word just came down from the council in Palermo. They’ve named a price.”
Victor’s posture stiffened instantly. “How much?”
“Ten million. Dead or alive. And they’ve dispatched the Executioner.”
The cabin went dead silent. Even the crackle of the fireplace seemed to fade into the background.
I watched the color drain from Victor’s face—not out of fear for himself, but out of a sudden, terrifying realization of what that name meant.
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“Who is the Executioner?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Victor looked down at me, his expression grim. “A ghost. A mercenary who doesn't fail, doesn't negotiate, and leaves no witnesses. And if he knows we’re at this cabin... he’s already tracking us.”
