Chapter 12 - The Girl Who Tripped the Devil
Carlo fired.
The shot tore past Mia’s shoulder and punched into the wall.
She slammed into him with everything she had.
Matteo twisted free at the same time. Carlo crashed into the stair rail, lost the medal chip, and grabbed for it as it bounced down the steps.
Mia dove after it.
So did Carlo.
So did Matteo.
All three collided on the stairwell in a tangle of limbs, curses, and terrible balance.
The chip skittered between the railings and dropped toward the lower landing.
Mia reached.
Her fingers missed it by an inch.
Then something absurd happened.
Her shoe slipped.
She fell forward, hit the railing hip-first, spun sideways, and accidentally kicked a loose mop bucket down the stairs.
The bucket flipped.
The chip landed inside it with a metallic ping.
For one stunned second, everyone stared.
Matteo whispered, “Did you just save the empire with a mop bucket?”
Mia gasped, “I meant to do that.”
Carlo roared and shoved her aside.
Matteo hit him.
Not like a spoiled rich son. Not like a man who had spent his life protected.
Like someone who had been waiting years to stop being afraid.
They fought down the stairs. Carlo was stronger and crueler, but Matteo had rage and purpose. Mia grabbed the bucket, shoved the chip into her pocket, and ran toward the dock door.
One of Carlo’s men appeared at the bottom.
Mia threw the bucket at his head.
It worked better than expected.
He went down with a groan.
“Still tactical?” Matteo shouted.
“Extremely!”
The dock door burst open.
Rain and sea wind blasted inside. Carlo broke free from Matteo and sprinted toward the boat. He no longer had the chip, but Mia knew he had something else: copies, contacts, maybe enough secrets to ruin them all slowly.
He could not leave.
Mia chased him onto the dock.
The wooden planks were slick. Waves smashed against the posts. Carlo’s boat engine roared awake. Two men on board raised their guns.
Mia dropped and slid behind a crate as bullets tore through the rain.
Matteo reached the doorway behind her. “Mia!”
“Stay back!”
He did not.
Of course he did not.
Carlo jumped onto the boat. “Go!”
The boat lurched away from the dock.
Mia saw the rope tied to the cleat.
Saw the rusted hook.
Saw the stack of fuel drums.
Saw the decorative anchor Lorenzo had probably bought because rich people liked nautical objects.
She grabbed the anchor chain and wrapped it around the dock cleat, then hooked the loose end around the boat’s stern rail as it pulled away.
For two seconds, nothing happened.
Then the chain snapped tight.
The boat jerked violently sideways.
Carlo lost his balance and slammed into the deck. One of his men fell overboard. The engine screamed. The stern rail bent.
Matteo grabbed Mia around the waist and hauled her back as the chain whipped loose and cracked across the dock.
The boat spun into the shallows, stuck against the rocks.
Security floodlights blazed on from the bluff above.
Bianca’s voice came over a loudspeaker.
“Carlo DeLuca, drop your weapon.”
The estate guards surrounded the dock.
Carlo rose slowly on the trapped boat, soaked, beaten, and empty-handed.
Lorenzo stood above on the terrace, pale but alive.
For once, Carlo had no door left to guard.
May you like
No secret passage left to use.
No woman left to underestimate.
