Chapter 5 - The Hotel Beneath the Hotel
By nightfall, they had a plan.
It was not a good plan.
Isabella told them so.
Alejandro ignored her.
Thomas agreed with her, which made Alejandro ignore both of them.
The Grandeville Hotel was still hosting private events, and its underground loading corridors were heavily monitored.
Petrov’s men had security credentials.
Mercer had federal access.
Alejandro could force entry, but that would warn everyone.
So they needed someone who could move through the hotel without attracting attention.
Every head turned toward Isabella.
“No.”
Thomas sighed.
“Bella.”
“No.”
Alejandro said nothing.
She pointed at him.
“And you especially don’t get to look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like this is obviously the answer.”
“It is.”
“I was nearly shot in my apartment twelve hours ago.”
“And I don’t want you near that building.”
“Good. We agree.”
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
“We need eyes inside.”
“Send one of his men.”
“They’ll recognize them,” Marco said from his chair.
Isabella hated that he was right.
“And they won’t recognize me?”
“You were a waitress,” Marco said. “Nobody remembers staff.”
The sentence made her angry enough to agree.
“Fine.”
Alejandro’s expression darkened.
“No.”
She turned.
“Excuse me?”
“I changed my mind.”
“You do realize I’m not employed by you.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then stop vetoing me.”
“You are not going underground alone.”
“Then don’t send me alone.”
Two hours later, Isabella entered the Grandeville wearing the same catering uniform from the gala.
A hidden camera was pinned beneath her collar.
A tiny earpiece sat inside her right ear.
Alejandro waited in a van three blocks away.
Thomas monitored from another vehicle.
Marco, still under guard, provided access codes.
Isabella moved through the service halls with a tray of empty glasses.
No one stopped her.
She reached the basement.
The unmarked steel door stood exactly where she remembered.
A keypad glowed beside it.
Marco’s voice came through her earpiece.
“Code 4419.”
She entered it.
The lock clicked.
Alejandro’s voice followed.
“Isabella, if anything feels wrong, you leave.”
“Everything feels wrong.”
“You know what I mean.”
She opened the door.
A narrow concrete stairway descended beneath the hotel.
Old lights flickered overhead.
At the bottom, she found a freight tunnel wide enough for small trucks.
Crates lined one wall.
Men moved between them.
Isabella counted six.
Then she saw Petrov.
She recognized him from the Verona file.
Silver hair.
Broad shoulders.
Expensive overcoat.
He stood beside a man in a federal windbreaker.
Daniel Mercer.
Isabella’s pulse jumped.
She crouched behind an old utility cart.
Mercer spoke.
“Romano takes the warehouse tomorrow at nine.”
Petrov lit a cigarette.
“He will if Bellini does his job.”
“Bellini is missing.”
Petrov stopped.
Mercer continued.
“So is the girl.”
Isabella held perfectly still.
“Then Romano has them.”
“Probably.”
Petrov cursed.
“What about Santos?”
“Also gone.”
The cigarette paused halfway to his mouth.
“That’s three failures.”
Mercer’s voice turned cold.
“Do not confuse your incompetence with mine.”
Petrov stepped closer.
“You work for me.”
Mercer smiled.
“For another twenty-four hours.”
Isabella barely breathed.
Mercer pointed toward a row of sealed metal containers.
“Once the isotopes transfer, I raid Warehouse Seventeen, arrest Romano’s men, and seize your visible weapons.”
“And me?”
“You disappear.”
Petrov stared.
Mercer’s smile widened.
“You always knew that part.”
Petrov reached for his gun.
Mercer’s agents raised theirs first.
Isabella’s hand flew over her mouth.
Petrov laughed.
“Careful, Daniel.”
“Why?”
“Because the insurance policy isn’t here.”
Mercer’s expression changed.
“What insurance policy?”
“A recording.”
Alejandro’s voice sharpened in Isabella’s ear.
“Get out.”
She stayed.
Petrov continued.
“Everything. Payments. Names. Your orders.”
“Where is it?”
Petrov smiled.
“With someone you can’t reach.”
Mercer grabbed him by the coat.
“Who?”
Petrov whispered something too low for Isabella to hear.
Then one of the guards turned.
His eyes landed directly on Isabella.
“Hey!”
She ran.
Gunfire exploded behind her.
“Move!” Alejandro shouted in her ear.
Isabella sprinted through the tunnel.
Footsteps pounded after her.
She reached the stairwell.
A man grabbed the back of her jacket.
She drove her elbow backward.
He cursed.
She twisted free and ran upstairs.
The steel door opened before she reached it.
Alejandro stood there.
He pulled her through and fired twice down the stairs.
“Go!”
They raced through the basement.
His men appeared from both sides.
The hotel alarm began screaming.
Guests upstairs had no idea why.
They reached the loading entrance.
A black SUV skidded to a stop.
Isabella climbed inside.
Alejandro followed.
As they sped away, he turned on her.
“I told you to leave.”
“I was listening.”
“You stayed.”
“I got the information.”
“You nearly got killed.”
“So did you.”
“That is different.”
“Why?”
“Because I—”
He stopped.
She stared.
“Because you what?”
Alejandro looked away.
The silence said it anyway.
Thomas’s voice came through the speaker from the front vehicle.
“We have bigger problems.”
Alejandro grabbed the radio.
“What?”
“Petrov’s recording.”
“What about it?”
“I think I know who has it.”
Isabella leaned forward.
“Who?”
Thomas hesitated.
Then said, “Isabella’s mother.”
She went still.
“My mother is dead.”
Thomas’s voice became very quiet.
“No, Bella.”
May you like
The world shifted again.
“She isn’t.”
