Chapter 5 - The Clock Strikes Eight-Ten
At 8:05 PM, the courtyard of Blackwood Manor was bathed in the harsh glare of floodlights.
A dozen high-ranking syndicate capos, regional directors, and wedding guests stood near the front portico, holding glasses of champagne, waiting to see Matteo off as he prepared to drive down to the downtown club for his bachelor celebration.
Standing near the front steps, Camille dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, looking pale, fragile, and utterly distraught—though only Matteo and Tessa knew her distress had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with panic.
Rafael sat bound and gagged in a reinforced chair in the estate’s security basement, his shoulder bandaged and his ambitions permanently shattered.
Matteo walked out through the grand double doors of the manor at exactly 8:08 PM.
He wore a dark tailored overcoat, his expression completely unreadable.
“Matteo, darling,” Camille called out, her voice trembling slightly as she stepped toward him. “Are you sure you have to take that car tonight? Let the driver take the Mercedes instead... please, I have a bad feeling—”
“No, Camille,” Matteo said smoothly, stopping just before the metallic-blue armored sedan waiting by the gravel drive. “This car has a special history. I want to drive it tonight.”
He unlocked the doors with his key fob. The parking lights flashed twice in the autumn darkness.
Several guests murmured approvingly, raising their glasses to the fearless boss who never let fear dictate his movements.
Matteo opened the driver’s door, climbed inside, and closed it with a heavy, satisfying thud.
He looked at the dashboard digital clock.
8:09 PM.
One minute until detonation.
Outside, through the bulletproof laminated glass, he could see Tessa standing near the perimeter wall, watching with a pair of encrypted binoculars, her finger hovering over a tactical communications relay.
Matteo turned the ignition key halfway, activating the electrical dashboard without cranking the engine.
The dashboard lights glowed green.
The interior clock clicked forward.
8:10 PM.
Nothing happened.
No flash of light. No shockwave. No roar of C4 tearing through steel and bone. Just the quiet hum of the dashboard electronics and the distant sound of wind rustling through the oak trees outside the gates.
Outside, Camille stared at the car, her eyes bulging with absolute, paralyzingly horror as the car remained completely intact. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
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Matteo shifted the car into reverse, backed out of the parking space with smooth, unhurried precision, and drove slowly toward the front gates where Tessa stood waiting.
The trap had sprung. But it had caught the hunters instead of the prey.
