YOU KNEW THE RISK
The storm had rolled in just before midnight, turning Philadelphia's streets into slick black mirrors that reflected the flickering neon signs of the city. Sophia Vincenzo watched the raindrops race down the tinted window of her SUV, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the leather seat. The mercenaries Matteo had arranged for her sat in silence. Four hardened men in nondescript black jackets who knew better than to speak unless spoken to.
"Are we ready?" Sophia asked, her voice cutting through the hum of the engine.
The man in the front passenger seat, Kovac, the Serbian with the scar across his eyebrow nodded once. "The Building is clear. No doorman, and no cameras in the stairwell. Just her."
Sophia's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then let's not keep her waiting."
The rain fell in heavy sheets as they exited the vehicle, the mercenaries forming a loose perimeter around her. Sophia didn't bother with an umbrella. The cold water soaking through her tailored coat suited her mood just fine.
Elena Conti's apartment building was exactly what Sophia had expected. A crumbling brownstone in a neighborhood that had seen better days. The kind of place where neighbors didn't ask questions and screams went unanswered. The lock on the front door yielded to Kovac's tools in under ten seconds.
Inside, the stairwell smelled of mildew and stale cigarettes. Sophia counted the steps as they ascended, twelve to the first landing, and another fourteen to the third floor. The numbers calmed her and gave her something to focus on besides the adrenaline humming through her veins.
Apartment 3B.
Kovac pressed his ear against the door for a long moment before nodding. The sound of frantic typing was clearly audible even from the hallway.
Sophia gestured, and the largest of the mercenaries—a quiet giant named Richter, kicked the door just hard enough to splinter the frame without sending it crashing inward.
The scene inside was almost comically predictable.
Elena Conti sat hunched over her computer, her back to the door, surrounded by a nest of papers and empty coffee cups. The blue light of the monitor reflected off her thin-framed glasses as her fingers flew across the keyboard. The apartment smelled of burnt coffee and printer ink, with an underlying note of sweat, the scent of obsession.
She didn't hear them enter.
Not until Kovac's hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her backward, sending her chair crashing to the floor.
Sophia took her time surveying the apartment while the men secured their prize. The walls were papered with newspaper clippings and photographs connected by red string. A large map of Philadelphia dominated one wall, dotted with pins marking locations Sophia recognized many of them, some a little too well Vincenzo-owned businesses, known meeting spots, and the homes of various associates.
"Ms. Conti," Sophia said, stepping into the journalist's line of sight. "I've been looking forward to this."
Elena's eyes widened as she took in Sophia's face, the sharp cheekbones, the full lips, the dark eyes that mirrored Antonio Vincenzo's so perfectly. Recognition flashed across her features.
"You're…"
"Antonio's daughter," Sophia confirmed. She gestured to Richter, who hauled Elena upright and shoved her into a wooden chair. "The one no one knows about."
While two of the mercenaries secured Elena's wrists and ankles to the chair with zip ties, Sophia paced around the apartment, examining the journalist's work. She paused at the computer, scrolling through the open files with clinical interest.
Elena strained against her bonds. "You can't just…"
Sophia backhanded her across the face. The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the small apartment.
"Let's establish some ground rules," Sophia said, shaking out her stinging hand. "I ask. You answer. If you lie..." She nodded to Kovac, who pressed the muzzle of his silenced pistol against Elena's kneecap.
The journalist swallowed hard, a thin trickle of blood running from her split lip. "What do you want?"
Sophia pulled up a chair, sitting so their faces were inches apart. "I want to know why a smart woman like you would poke a hornet's nest with a stick." She gestured to the walls. "All this? The files? The witnesses? You had to know how this would end."
Elena lifted her chin. "The truth matters."
"The truth?" Sophia laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "That truth will be your end now!" Sophia's sudden shout made even the mercenaries tense. She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair back into place. When she spoke again, her voice was dangerously calm. "You know how things work. You knew the risks. And yet here you are."
She stood abruptly, turning to Kovac. "Make it look like a suicide."
Elena's breath came faster now. "You don't have to do this please, I will stay away, I promise."
"Of course, you will stay away," Sophia interrupted.
She leaned down, her lips brushing the journalist's ear as she whispered, "A dead person always stays away from everything."
She straightened, nodding to Richter, who pressed a chloroform-soaked rag over Elena's mouth and nose. The journalist's struggles grew weaker by the second until finally, her body went slack.
Sophia watched dispassionately as the mercenaries set the scene. The tipped-over chair, the empty pill bottle placed carefully in Elena's limp hand, the suicide note forged in her handwriting. When they were finished, Kovac handed her a pair of latex gloves.
"Fingerprints," he explained.
Sophia rolled her eyes but put them on, taking a moment to straighten a framed photo on Elena's desk. It was a throwback picture of a younger version of the journalist accepting some award, smiling for cameras that would never capture her again.
"Such a waste," she murmured.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The streets glistened under the yellow glow of streetlights as Sophia slid back into the SUV. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, maybe for Elena, maybe for some other poor soul who'd outlived their time tonight.
Sophia checked her watch. 1:17 AM. 'Still enough time to meet Mattoe. Let's go"