Chapter 7 - The Grand Hotel
The black limousine pulled up to the valet entrance of the Grand Hotel at 02:15 AM.
Rain was pouring down in sheets, blurring the neon lights of the city sky scrapers into long strokes of red and yellow across the wet pavement.
Marin sat in the back seat opposite Elias. She had traded her scrub top for a sleek, dark-gray wool coat over black tactical trousers and boots. Beneath her coat, she carried a suppressed 9mm pistol Elias had provided—a weapon she had inspected and disassembled in forty seconds in the back of the car.
"Moretti’s lead man is named Dominic," Elias said, adjusting his cuff links. "He’s an ex-cop from Philadelphia who went bad fifteen years ago. He’s mean, careless, and likes to use heavy calibers."
"Then he's predictable," Marin said, her eyes fixed on the hotel entrance. "Predictable men are easy to kill."
"You talk like a soldier again," Elias noted softly.
"I don't like being dragged back into dirty wars, Mr. Ferrante," Marin said, glancing at him. "I spent four years trying to forget what a bullet does to a human body."
"In my world, there are no clean wars," Elias said. "There is only survival."
They stepped out into the rain. Marko and two senior Ferrante guards followed three steps behind, their eyes constantly scanning the balconies and windows above.
The lobby was vast, decorated with white marble and grand crystal chandeliers that cast long, amber light across the polished floor. Four men in cheap suits stood near the elevators, their hands buried inside their coats.
"They're nervous," Marin whispered to Elias as they walked toward the lift. "Their weight is on their back heels. They're expecting a fight."
"Let them be nervous," Elias said, pressing the call button for the elevator.
The elevator doors opened. The group stepped inside, the steel doors sliding shut with a quiet, pneumatic hiss.
As the indicator light climbed toward the 40th floor, Marin reached out and pressed the emergency stop button between the 38th and 39th floors.
The lift jerked to a sudden halt.
"What the hell are you doing?" Marko demanded, his hand dropping to his holster.
"The elevator floor indicator in the lobby is mechanical," Marin said calmly, pulling a small electronic scanner from her coat. "Moretti’s men on the 40th floor are watching the light. When it hits forty, they'll open fire through the doors before we even step out."
She glanced at Elias. "We take the service stairs from thirty-eight."
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Elias looked at Marko, whose face had gone pale. Then he turned to Marin with an expression that was almost like admiration.
"Lead the way, Captain," Elias said.
