Chapter Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Things moved so quickly, Nikki couldn’t be sure of everything that happened, or why.
A man came from the house and questioned Valerio. Then, suddenly, viciously, began kicking and punching him.
Nikki was on her feet, terror and fury propelling her forward. But Federico’s hands were on her, wrenching her back to the ground.
“That’s Luca,” he hissed in her ear. “He’ll kill you—or worse.”
She yielded, heart aching, hands trembling as she tried to hold the camera steady.
—
The white-haired Lazarov arrived in a sedan, and dragged someone from the boot—a large woman in medical scrubs with a mop of curly hair.
She cried and struggled—and he punched her.
Then, one of the guards wrestled her upright and held a gun to her head.
The woman sobbed. Valerio and Lazarov were shouting at each other.
Nikki strained to hear what they were saying—when a report rang out.
For a terrible moment, she thought Valerio had been shot.
But it was a guard who fell, clutching his stomach.
Nikki looked between the players, trying to understand what had happened. The captive woman now had a gun. She was yelling, gesturing—when Lazarov shot her.
The bullet slammed her backwards. She crumpled.
Lazarov strolled to her and, with visible disdain, nudged the motionless body with his boot. Then he aimed his weapon again.
The echoing gunshot was followed by a wailing howl.
Nikki recognized Valerio’s voice, but had never guessed he could make such a terrible sound.
Evading Federico and ignoring his protests, Nikki launched from her position and skidded down the hill, keeping low and staying in the cover of shadows and trees.
—
The descent was steep, tough, long—a one-way trip.
She tried not to think about what would happen when she arrived at the courtyard lights and the army of well-armed men.
Instead, she focused on maneuvering the difficult terrain, pausing to verify her cover and check what was happening in the courtyard where some of the men were arguing.
Her attention was on Valerio. He’d stopped moving.
“Don’t let him be dead,” she murmured, panic and dread making her sick.
She needed help.
The signal on her phone was low—not enough to send the video she’d taken of the woman’s murder. But hopefully enough for a text.
He’s here, she wrote to Maurizio. Injured. Errichiello’s place. Caserta. They just killed a woman. Bring police.
She shared her coordinates.
She was nearly level with the courtyard now—Valerio so close that, under other circumstances, she could have strolled into the stark lights and felt for a pulse.
She wasn’t sure what to do next, yet she knew that if she didn’t act soon, Lazarov would kill Valerio like he’d killed the woman.
As she watched, two of the men grabbed Valerio, and dragged him from the courtyard and into the woods at the rear of the house.
She kept pace as best she could, but her progress was hampered by the thick brush—and she had to stop when a guard came close to her position and lit a cigarette, staring into the trees.
She held still, hardly daring to breathe as he finished and strolled away.
She was motionless for a long time after that—watching the courtyard. Two men collected the woman’s body and left. Then the buzzing bright lights switched off.
A welcome darkness enveloped the world.
Nikki listened, waiting for the activity to die down before she began moving again, towards the area where the men had taken Valerio.
—
About two hundred meters from the house, in an overgrown thicket, she found a small square concrete building. She waited and then approached cautiously. The only entry was a heavy wooden door secured with a large padlock and chain. She tapped on the door, and whispered Valerio’s name. No reply.
“Valerio,” she said again, this time louder. “Are you there?”
She strained to listen. Silence.
She examined the padlock and chain, hopeful that someone had been sloppy in securing it—but it was locked tight.
She rapped her knuckles against the door again…and again.
Suddenly, there were strong arms around her, wrenching her back, a hand clamped over her mouth.
A voice in her ear murmured, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Grabbing with both hands and wrenching the fingers away, she shifted her center of gravity, preparing to twist his wrist and elbow, to fight her way out.
“Stop!” he hissed. “Stay quiet.”
It was familiar: the breath on her cheek, the smell and shape of him. The voice of De Rosa.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
He released, and she pivoted to face him, fury and fear choking her. “He’s in there. Valerio’s in there.”
He drew close, eyes like black holes punched in the darkness. “You saw the condition he’s in. He’s not going to make it. Get out of here while you can.”
The words were calm and practical, but Nikki felt the emotion beneath them. She thought she had the measure of De Rosa, but she didn’t understand this.
“Why the fuck do you care?”
He stared a long moment, then raised his hands and took a step back.
“Your grave,” he said. He glanced at the door behind her and pointed. “Don’t make a sound. Don’t fuck this up or I’ll kill you myself.”
Then he turned and sprinted silently through the trees.
—
Nikki returned to the door. This time, to her immense relief, her knock was answered by a return tap.
“Valerio!” she whispered.
“Nikki! Good god, Nikki! Is that you?”
He sounded weak.
“I’m going to get you out,” she said. “How badly are you hurt?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. Nikki worried what this meant.
“Bad,” he said at last. “Bleeding out…leg’s shot…and my head…something’s wrong…can’t stay awake.”
“Okay, okay,” she said. Her mind was racing.
“Thirsty,” he said. “Do you have water?”
“Not with me…. I’ll get you water,” she promised. “Just hang on, okay? I need to get something to open this lock.”
She wasn’t sure how. If she couldn’t find a key, then she needed to break the lock. One thing at a time, she told herself.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Valerio said.
“Don’t you do anything stupid,” she answered.
—
She moved quietly back the way she’d come—heading for the building closest to the house. At a door on the side, she tested the handle. Unlocked!
Carefully, she pulled it open and slipped quickly through the gap.
To her relief, she was alone. Yet there was no escape here and few places to hide if anyone else came in.
Two parked Mercedes SUVs were in the space—one with its hood up, grease pan beneath. A working garage, then. There must be tools somewhere.
She crossed to a workbench and opened cabinets and drawers. What she needed—what she desperately wanted to find—was bolt cutters. But there was nothing! Nothing she could use to free Valerio. She growled in frustration.
She’d been here too long and spent her luck. She needed to get out. No sooner had she thought this than she heard a noise outside. Someone shouting.
Fuck. Fuck.
Stooping, she crept along the wall, prepared to drop to the floor and roll under a car or bench if someone opened the door. Then she saw it: a rack of keys behind the doorframe. She sprinted, and grabbed them all, shoving them into her bag.
Outside, she dashed for the trees.
She hadn’t gone far when the night erupted with shouts and the crackle of gunfire.
Nikki hit the ground, waited and listened.
But the activity seemed to be directed at the front of the compound.
So many guns—far more than De Rosa’s alone.
Had he called in his men—or had Maurizio and the police arrived? She hoped the latter.
She stood again, and raced for Valerio.
—
“Nikki, is that you?” Valerio said as she slammed against the door.
“I’ve found keys,” she panted.
She dug into the bag and started sorting—pushing the car keys aside, and trying the others. It was painstaking, slow work. The sounds of a gunfight drew closer, and she was seized with terror. Her hands and body shook.
“Please, please,” she whispered. Then, to Valerio, in a loudly cheerful voice: “How are you holding up?”
“Doing great,” he answered. “Take it easy, little devil.”
Key after key…none worked.
She swung around to the sounds of running feet and rustling in the trees. A figure burst from the woods. One of Lazarov’s men. He hesitated, obviously surprised to see her. Their eyes locked, and he raised his weapon. He never got the chance to use it.
Federico was behind him, the hollow cheeks and blank glasses of the tall man visible above the head of the guard.
With startling speed, the long bony hands of the butcher moved around the neck.
A blade flashed silver in the dim light, and the guard reached up to grab his throat as fountains of dark blood gushed from the wound.
He made a terrible gurgling sound, heaving as he struggled to breathe, and collapsed.
Nikki watched in horror as the man thrashed. It was a terrible death. The worst thing she’d ever seen. Federico watched with her, a rigid stillness to his posture.
Somewhere nearby, an automatic weapon fired on repeat. This was followed by an explosion in the direction of the house, and a bright orange light flashed through the trees, bringing heat.
“Take his gun,” Federico told Nikki.
Crouching, she wrapped her fingers around the cold grip. Heavier than she expected.
—
The time for quiet caution had passed; the night was consumed by the chaos of the approaching fight.
It took three tries before the bullet shattered the lock. She pulled the sharp and twisted pieces away and gripped the door, pulling it wide.
The surging stench of the dark cavity was unbearable, the buzz of insects enveloping her. Nikki’s stomach heaved as she rushed inside and bent to grab Valerio’s feverish body.
“I’ve got you!” she said.
But he wasn’t moving. She leaned in and listened. His breathing was shallow.
“Help!” Nikki shouted to Federico. “Help me get him out.”