Chapter 2 - THE AMBUSH AT THE ELEVATOR|
Enzo Marciano’s eyes shifted past me to the far end of the long corridor. The scarred man had already tucked his phone back into his coat pocket, standing as motionless as a statue.
"Your name?" Marciano asked softly.
"Amelia Duarte."
"Why were you reading his phone, Amelia?"
"I saw it reflected in the mirror," I said, holding up my damp cleaning cloth. "And I recognized him."
A silver-haired guard beside Marciano spoke quickly into a hidden earpiece. His name was Tomaso—a veteran who had served the Marciano family for three decades. He walked casually down the hall without looking at either suspect, as if he were only checking the elevator call button.
Marciano turned back to me, his cold posture shifting slightly. "Recognized him from where?"
"My father trusted him," I replied, forcing my voice to stay steady. "My father was murdered eight years ago."
Tomaso’s voice crackled through Marciano’s earpiece. I couldn't hear the exact words, but Marciano’s jaw clenched tightly. He immediately motioned his remaining guards away from the open elevator doors.
"Get behind me, Amelia," Marciano ordered.
"I need to go back to work," I said, backing away toward my cart.
"Not yet," Marciano said, grabbing my wrist with a grip like iron.
At the far end of the corridor, the scarred man noticed Tomaso’s positioning and reached inside his leather jacket.
"Rocco! Freeze!" Tomaso yelled, drawing a suppressed sidearm from his shoulder holster.
The service elevator doors slid open behind Rocco, and a masked man holding a automatic submachine gun stepped out into the open hall.
Marciano’s guard caught my shoulder and threw me into the marble alcove beside the private elevator just as the first deafening burst of gunfire shattered the quiet hallway.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
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Glass mirrors erupted into thousands of sharp crystals. Plaster exploded from the walls, filling the air with thick white dust. A hotel guest opened her door, screamed at the top of her lungs, and slammed it shut again.
I crouched against the floor, glass shards falling over my gray uniform like heavy rain, as blue cleaning fluid ran straight toward the hem of Marciano’s polished leather shoe.
