Chapter 6 - The Ambush at Pier 4
The silence in the penthouse stretched for six agonizing hours. Evelyn paced the length of the living room, her burgundy gown swapped for dark jeans and a cashmere sweater Rocco had had Frankie deliver that morning. Every minute felt like an eternity.
At 1:15 PM, Frankie entered the room, his phone pressed to his ear. His usually unflappable face was rigid with tension.
"Repeat that," Frankie barked into the receiver. A pause. "Where?"
Evelyn stopped pacing, her stomach dropping into a bottomless pit. "Frankie? What happened?"
Frankie hung up, his eyes meeting hers with grim urgency. "Moretti didn't show up at the harbor. He staged a decoy at Pier 4. He sent his main hit squad to the Sinclair Hotel. The boss went straight there with only two men."
"The Sinclair?" Evelyn gasped. "The hotel is completely empty! It's under construction!"
"That's why Moretti chose it," Frankie said, pulling a weapon from under his shoulder holster and checking the chamber with a sharp click. "Concrete walls, no security cameras, and right next to the rail yard. He's got Rocco cornered on the third floor."
"Then why are you standing here?" Evelyn cried. "Go help him!"
"My orders are to stay with you, Miss Hartwell," Frankie answered rigidly. "Rocco made it clear. If anything happens to you, my life is forfeit."
"If Rocco dies in that hotel, none of us are walking away from this!" Evelyn stepped directly into Frankie's personal space, her voice blazing with an authority she didn't know she possessed. "I know that building. I've spent three weeks surveying every crawlspace, every utility shaft, and the old service elevators behind the ballroom! You go in blind, you'll walk right into an ambush. You need me."
Frankie stared at her, weighing the orders of his boss against the tactical reality. For three seconds, neither moved.
"Can you shoot?" Frankie asked abruptly.
"No," Evelyn replied instantly. "But I know how to cut the main breaker to the entire east wing in six seconds flat. In the dark, Rocco wins. Am I right?"
A slow, grim smile broke across Frankie's scarred face. "Get your coat, Miss Hartwell."
Ten minutes later, their black sedan screeched into the rear alley behind the Sinclair Hotel. The sky had turned a bruising shade of purple, thunder rumbling low across the valley. Gunfire echoed from within the cavernous depths of the historic building—sharp, staccato cracks of automatic rifles bouncing off marble corridors.
Frankie breached the back kitchen delivery entrance, weapon drawn, Evelyn following close behind his broad frame. The air smelled of sawdust, wet plaster, and the sharp chemical stink of cordite.
"Breaker panel is in the old boiler room behind the laundry chute," Evelyn whispered, pointing toward a narrow hallway beneath the grand stairs. "The third floor circuits are labeled in Roman numerals on the junction box."
"Go," Frankie whispered, signaling to two backup guards who had just arrived at the perimeter. "Cut the juice the second you hear my signal."
Evelyn didn't wait. Slipping off her boots to run silently in thick socks across the dusty floorboards, she navigated the labyrinthine basement she had memorized while planning the chandelier wiring. Her heart hammered in her throat, but fear was replaced by an icy, diamond-hard focus. Rocco had stepped into the line of fire for her and Sophie. She wasn't going to let him die in an abandoned building.
Upstairs, a voice boomed through the open atrium.
"Give it up, Ventresca!" a coarse voice shouted, followed by a burst of laughter. "You're bleeding out behind those pillars! Hand over the deeds to the transit corridor and maybe we let your little antique restorer live long enough to bury you!"
Evelyn reached the massive cast-iron electrical cabinet. Her fingers flew over the switches, identifying the heavy primary lever.
Above her, Rocco's voice answered, calm, mocking, and dangerous: "You talk too much, Moretti. That's why your father left the business to your cousin."
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Gunfire erupted.
Evelyn grabbed the master industrial lever with both hands, braced her weight against the rusted housing, and slammed it downward with everything she had.
