Chapter 3 - The Blood On The Nevada Photograph
Elena stared at the photograph.
The little girl in the oversized wool coat looked back at her, frozen in time.
"How do you know my father's name?" Elena whispered, the noise of the panicked restaurant fading into a dull hum.
Lorenzo Moretti stood up, his massive frame blocking the shattered window. He tucked the gun back into his holster and slipped the photograph into his own pocket.
"Because Frank Vance is the man who taught me how to shoot," Lorenzo said.
The words hit Elena like a physical blow.
Her father. The quiet, paranoid man who fixed cars in Reno and made her memorize exits. The man who had disappeared seven years ago, leaving nothing but an envelope of cash and a note that said Don't look for me.
"You're lying," Elena said, her voice trembling. "My father was a mechanic."
"Your father was the most lethal enforcer the Moretti family ever employed," Lorenzo corrected, his tone flat and devoid of pity. "He disappeared because a hit was placed on his head. And clearly, whoever was looking for him just found you."
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.
Two men in dark suits burst through the kitchen doors. They didn't look like police. They looked like Lorenzo.
"Boss," the taller one said, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Victor's body. "We have the perimeter. The cops are two minutes out."
"Clear the back alley," Lorenzo ordered. "Get the car."
He turned to Elena and reached out his hand.
"We are leaving."
Elena backed away, her shoes slipping slightly on Victor's blood. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I have to talk to the police."
Lorenzo stepped closer. The absolute authority in his eyes left no room for argument.
"If you talk to the police, you will be dead before sunrise," he said quietly. "Victor wasn't just your manager. He was a broker for the Costa family. He sold your location to them. They didn't miss me, Elena. They shot Victor for failing to deliver you quietly."
Elena looked at Victor’s lifeless body. The fresh water he had insisted she bring. It was a setup. To get her out in the open.
"Why do they want me?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"Because of what your father stole from them," Lorenzo said. "Now give me your hand."
She didn't have a choice. The sirens were deafening now.
She placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, solid, and terrifyingly strong.
He pulled her through the kitchen, out the back door, and into a waiting black sedan just as the first police cruisers skidded to a halt in front of Lydian.
The car sped through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, diving into the labyrinth of the city.
Elena sat in the back seat next to Lorenzo. She pulled her knees to her chest, her bloody apron still tied around her waist.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To a place that doesn't exist on paper," Lorenzo replied.
He pulled the photograph from his pocket and turned on the small overhead reading light.
He didn't look at the picture of little Elena. He flipped it over.
The back of the photograph was stained with Victor's blood, but there were numbers written in faded black ink.
Coordinates.
"Do you know what these are?" Lorenzo asked, showing her.
Elena squinted. "No."
"It's a location in upstate New York," Lorenzo said. "A property registered to a shell company."
He looked at her, his jaw set.
"Victor was holding this to trade with the Costas. It's where your father is hiding."
A tear finally spilled over Elena's eyelashes. "He's alive?"
"He was a week ago," Lorenzo said.
He reached into the console and pulled out a clean white towel, handing it to her.
"Wipe the blood off your hands, Elena. We aren't going to a safehouse. We are going upstate."
Elena took the towel. As she scrubbed her hands, she noticed Lorenzo staring at her left wrist.
"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice suddenly tight.
Elena looked down. She was wearing a cheap, braided red leather bracelet.
"My father made it for me," she said, defensive. "Right before he left."
Lorenzo reached out and gripped her wrist. Not hard, but firmly.
He pressed his thumb against the thickest part of the braid.
A faint, rhythmic click sounded.
Lorenzo’s eyes widened in realization.
"It's not just a bracelet," Lorenzo said, reaching into his pocket for a knife. "It's a localized radio transmitter."
Elena gasped. "What?"
Lorenzo cut the bracelet off her wrist in one swift motion. He rolled down the heavy armored window and threw it out into the speeding traffic.
He turned back to her, his face a mask of cold fury.
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"Your father didn't abandon you, Elena," Lorenzo said. "He’s been tracking you for seven years. And if Victor found out about the bracelet... the Costas are tracking you right now."
TITLE: The Coat In The Empty Cabin
