I look down at him. Give him more space. And my smile widens as he prostrates himself and his lips touch the toe of my shoe.

I want to kick the son-of-a-bitch, but I don’t. I’m a man of my word. I will give them one more chance.

A sound comes from the metal ramp that runs along the perimeter of the large office forming a second level. I look at it. It must have been an observation deck to oversee the plant.

I don’t know if anyone else heard it. A glance at Roman tells me he did, but the others haven’t noticed. I nod to him. He steps out of the room and two men follow.

When I return my gaze to the spectacle in front of me, I’m very aware of my periphery. I want to catch any movement because that sound was too loud for a mouse.

“Get them out of here,” I say to the two soldiers behind the brothers.

“Yes, sir.”

I watch as Joe and Lance are walked rudely out of the room. After a few moments, I turn to my men. “Let’s go,” I say loudly. They walk out. I hang back, switch out the light, listen to the footsteps echo as they vacate the building. I reach for the handgun in its holster beneath my jacket and walk silently toward the direction from where the sound had come.

2

Natalie

It’s been silent for a while, but I’m too scared to move. I can’t believe what I saw. What I heard. Benedetti. I know that name. And the one in the suit, the man who once saved my life, I think he heard when my boot caught the screw on the floor. Although I’m maybe overthinking it. He didn’t say anything, just carried on with his business.

My knees creak when I finally dare to straighten. I’ve been hiding, crouched for too long. I’m holding my breath, my eyes wide. It’s pitch-black here, but I’m too afraid to use the flashlight on my phone.

I take two steps, peek around the machine that shielded me from their view. The room is empty. I creep to the top of the stairs. My heart is still racing as I grip the ice-cold banister, my knees not quite steady as I make my way down. I tuck my phone into my purse. I’m at the bottom of the stairs, my foot poised to step onto the ground floor when I hear it. The cocking of a gun. Twice in my life now, I’ve heard a gun cocked at too close a range. It comes in the same instant as the arm that wraps around my throat, that presses my back against a chest of steel.