Chapter 6 - THE BLOODY SCARF
"Silas!" I screamed into the phone. "Silas, answer me!"
The line went dead.
My knees hit the floor. The encrypted phone slipped from my sweaty fingers, clattering against the hardwood. A gunshot. A body hitting the floor. I couldn't breathe. The walls of the luxurious office were closing in on me. Maren’s words echoed in my head, a toxic venom that rewrote everything I thought I knew.
Elena was running away. Liam fixed her car.
My husband hadn't been killed by random bad luck. He had been murdered because he tried to help Silas Rourke’s wife escape. And now, Silas had walked into a trap to save my son.
The heavy oak doors swung open. I scrambled backward, grabbing the heavy brass fire poker from the hearth. But it wasn't the Morettis.
It was Sophie.
She stood in the doorway, wearing her little pink nightgown, clutching a ragged teddy bear. Her eyes were wide, staring at me kneeling on the floor.
"Miss Hannah?" she whispered. "Where is Daddy?"
I dropped the poker and rushed to her, pulling her into my arms. She felt so small, so fragile. I had to protect her. Silas had trusted me to protect her.
"Daddy had to go out for a little bit, sweetie," I lied, my voice shaking. "He'll be back soon."
Sophie pulled back and looked at me, her young eyes entirely too perceptive. "You're crying. Did the monsters come back?"
Before I could answer, Marco ran down the hall, his radio crackling. He saw me and stopped, his face pale.
"Marco, what is it?" I demanded, standing up and pulling Sophie behind me.
"We just got a distress signal from the boss's car," Marco said grimly. "It was triggered manually. The tracker shows it parked at the edge of the docks, but... there's no movement."
"He was shot," I choked out, covering my mouth. "Maren called me. I heard a gunshot."
Marco swore in Italian. He grabbed his radio. "Prepare the cars. We're going in."
"I'm coming with you," I said, moving toward the door.
"No," Marco snapped. "The boss gave strict orders—"
"He gave orders for me to run if he wasn't back by 2:00 AM! It's not 2:00 AM yet," I fired back, surprising myself with the steel in my voice. "My son is out there. I am not sitting here waiting for another phone call."
I looked down at Sophie. "Marco, leave your best men here with her. Lock the doors. Nobody gets in."
Marco hesitated, then nodded. He knew the Morettis wouldn't stop at the docks; if Silas fell, they would come for the mansion next.
Five minutes later, I was in the back of a black armored SUV, speeding through the torrential rain toward the docks. The city blurred past, streaks of neon light reflecting in the puddles. My heart hammered against my ribs, a desperate, frantic rhythm.
When we reached Pier 47, the warehouse district was a ghost town. The rain was coming down in sheets, obscuring the shipping containers.
Marco’s headlights illuminated Silas’s car. It was parked sideways, the driver's side door wide open.
We jumped out, guns drawn on Marco’s end, nothing but raw terror on mine.
"Silas!" I screamed over the rain.
No answer.
We ran to the car. The interior was empty. But on the driver's seat, soaked in rain and something darker, lay a piece of fabric.
I reached out with trembling hands and picked it up.
It was a silk scarf. Elena’s scarf. I recognized it from the portraits hanging in the mansion.
But it was covered in fresh blood.
"They moved them," Marco said, his flashlight sweeping the empty pier. "Damn it, they took them both."
"Look," I whispered, pointing to the ground.
Through the washing rain, a trail of dark red droplets led away from the car, disappearing into the labyrinth of rusty shipping containers.
I didn't wait for Marco. I ran toward the blood trail, rounding the corner of a massive blue container, only to freeze in my tracks.
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Standing ten feet away, holding a gun pointed directly at my chest, was a man I hadn't seen in four years. A man who was supposed to be dead.
"Hello, Hannah," Liam said.
