Ava's POV
The scraping sound stopped. The silence that followed was worse. It was the silence of someone listening, waiting for a reaction from inside.
Leo didn't breathe. He didn't even blink. He was a statue, every muscle coiled, his eyes fixed on the door. Slowly, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, he began to move. He took one silent step toward the shelf where his gun lay.
Click.
Ava jumped. It was the sound of the first lock disengaging. A deadbolt. They were in.
Leo froze mid-step. His gaze darted from the door to Ava, then to the gun. Five steps away. Too far. If he moved now, the person outside would hear.
Click.
The second lock. The door handle jiggled, ever so slightly.
Ava's mind screamed. Her body wanted to curl into a ball, to hide. But her eyes were locked on Leo. She saw the calculation in his eyes. The weapon was out of reach. He was unarmed. They were trapped.
The door began to open. Just a crack. A sliver of the dim hallway light cut into the dark apartment.
In that instant, Leo moved. But not toward the gun. Toward her.
He crossed the room in two swift, silent strides and grabbed her arm. He didn't pull her to her feet. He pulled her down, off the couch and onto the floor behind the solid bulk of the coffee table. It was rough, and she bit back a cry as her ribs protested. He shoved her firmly into the narrow space between the table and the sofa, putting his own body between her and the door.
"Stay down. Don't make a sound," he breathed directly into her ear, his voice the barest whisper.
The door opened wider. A shadow fell across the floor.
From her cramped hiding spot, Ava could only see Leo's back and a slice of the room. She saw a figure step inside. It wasn't Mark. It wasn't the fox-faced P.I. from the photo. This man was younger, dressed in dark, practical clothes. He held a small, pen-shaped tool in one hand—a lockpick. His other hand held a phone, its screen illuminating his sharp, alert face.
He took two steps into the room and stopped. He was looking right at Leo, who was now standing in the middle of the room, empty-handed, facing the intruder.
For three heartbeats, no one moved. The intruder's eyes darted around, taking in the sterile apartment, the two coffee mugs, and the tablet on the table. They landed on the gun on the shelf. A slow, tense smile spread across his face.
"Mr. Moretti," the man said. His voice was young and confident. "The Ghost in the flesh. We heard you were… occupied with a personal matter."
Leo said nothing. His hands were loose at his sides.
"My boss, Mr. Vitelli, sends his regards. He's curious about your new distraction." The man's eyes flicked toward the sofa, as if he could sense Ava hiding there. "He figured if your security was focused here, other places might be… softer targets. Like your west side warehouse. Thanks for that, by the way."
So this was it. The "business rival." They hadn't just come for her. They'd used her as a diversion to hurt Leo.
"You've delivered your message," Leo said, his voice low and calm. "Now get out."
The man chuckled, taking another casual step forward. "See, that's the thing. The message isn't just from Vitelli. It's from me. I've been wanting to meet you. They say you're untouchable. But you're not. You're right here. And you're alone." His gaze went to the gun on the shelf again, a taunt in his eyes. "Out of reach."
He was here to prove a point. To be the man who faced down The Ghost.
The man's free hand moved to his waistband. He was going for his own weapon.
Ava's heart hammered against her bruised ribs. She saw Leo's back tense. He was going to lunge, unarmed, against a man with a gun. It was a suicide move.
Without thinking, driven by pure adrenaline, Ava's hand shot out from behind the couch. Her fingers closed around the first thing they touched, the heavy ceramic base of the floor lamp next to the sofa.
As the intruder pulled a sleek, black pistol from his waistband, Ava acted.
She didn't stand up. She swung the lamp base like a clumsy club from her kneeling position on the floor. She wasn't aiming for the man. She was aiming for his hand.
The heavy ceramic connected with the man's wrist just as he was leveling the gun.
CRACK.
The sound was sickening. The man yelled in pain and surprise. The pistol flew from his grip, skittering across the floor and under the dining table.
Time seemed to snap back into fast-forward.
Leo was a blur of motion. He closed the distance before the intruder could recover. It wasn't a fight. It was a brutal, efficient dismantling. A sharp strike to the throat cut off the man's yell. A knee drove into his stomach, folding him over. A final, precise chop to the back of the neck sent him crumpling to the floor, unconscious.
The whole thing took less than five seconds.
Leo stood over the prone man, breathing evenly. He looked at Ava, still crouched behind the coffee table, clutching the lamp base with white knuckles. His gray eyes held a new, unreadable emotion.
He stepped over the intruder and walked to the shelf. He picked up his own gun, checked it, and tucked it into the back of his jeans. Then he retrieved the intruder's weapon from under the table.
He came back to her, knelt, and gently pried the lamp base from her shaking hands. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice quiet now.
She shook her head, unable to speak. She was staring at the man on the floor.
"He's alive," Leo said, following her gaze. "He'll have a headache and a broken wrist. And a story that will hurt his reputation more than his body." He stood up. "We have to go. Now. His finding us means others can."
"But… what about him?" Ava whispered.
"I'll call a cleanup crew. They'll take him back to his boss with a reply." Leo's voice was ice. He walked to the study, emerged a minute later with a small duffel bag, and her silenced phone in its pouch. He went to the window, looked out, and cursed under his breath.
"What is it?"
"Car. Black sedan. Two doors down. It wasn't there an hour ago." He turned from the window. "They didn't send just one. He was the probe. The backup is outside, waiting for a signal or for him not come out."
Panic, fresh and sharp, flooded Ava. "So we're trapped?"
"No," Leo said. He went to the kitchenette and opened a lower cabinet. It wasn't for pots and pans. Inside was a metal panel. He punched a code into a keypad, and the panel slid aside, revealing a dark, square hole in the wall. A service duct. "We're leaving the way they don't expect."
He helped Ava to her feet. "Can you climb? It's a ladder. Goes down to the basement garage of the building next door."
She looked at the dark hole, then at the unconscious man on their floor. She nodded.
"Good. Go. I'll be right behind you."
Ava approached the opening. A cold, metallic smell wafted out. She sat on the edge, swung her legs in, and found the first rung of the ladder with her foot. Pain shot through her side, but she gritted her teeth and started climbing down into the darkness.
Above her, she saw Leo stand over the unconscious intruder one last time. He didn't kick him. He didn't say anything. He simply took the man's phone from the floor, snapped it in half, and dropped the pieces on his chest.
Then he followed her into the duct, pulling the cabinet door shut behind him. The panel slid closed with a soft hiss, leaving the apartment silent, save for the steady breathing of the wounded man on the floor.
Ava descended into the pitch-black shaft, each rung sending jolts of pain through her body. They were escaping, but into another unknown. Above, in the apartment, a ticking clock had started. How long until the backup team outside realized their man was down? How long until they stormed the door, finding it empty, and began searching the building? The escape route was a secret, but secrets have a way of being found.