Chapter 9 - The Suit That Started a WarPort Fourteen smelled of salt, diesel, and rain.
Lyra had always imagined criminal docks would look cinematic.
Fog.
Shadowy men.
Maybe dramatic cranes moving against moonlight.
In reality, everything was ugly fluorescent light and stacked shipping containers.
Noah parked two blocks away.
“No shooting unless necessary,” Lyra said.
Paulie looked offended.
“She giving orders now?”
“Yes,” Noah answered.
Paulie nodded.
“All right.”
Lyra turned toward Noah.
“You agreed very quickly.”
“I’m conserving energy.”
“For?”
“Arguing with you later.”
They approached the warehouse from the east.
Noah had six men.
Luca probably had more.
Vincent almost certainly had more than both.
The plan was simple.
Find the incoming shipment.
Document it.
Contact a federal investigator Noah believed was outside Luca’s influence.
Get out.
Simple plans, Lyra had learned, were usually doomed.
They found the truck at 11:18 p.m.
The driver fled.
Inside were seventy crates.
Weapons.
Exactly as expected.
Every crate carried Bell Bespoke paperwork.
Lyra photographed everything.
Serial numbers.
Labels.
Shipping records.
Noah’s contact confirmed receipt.
For approximately thirty seconds, the plan worked perfectly.
Then the lights went out.
Paulie said one word.
“Move.”
Gunfire erupted.
Lyra dropped behind a forklift.
Noah returned fire.
Men poured through both warehouse entrances.
Caruso.
Moretti.
She could not tell which.
That was probably the point.
Noah reached her.
“Back exit.”
They ran.
A bullet struck the metal beside Lyra’s head.
Sparks exploded.
She ducked.
Someone grabbed her from the darkness.
A hand covered her mouth.
She bit it.
Hard.
The man screamed.
Lyra drove her heel backward.
He released her long enough for Noah to arrive.
Noah hit him twice.
The man stayed down.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Stay attached to me.”
“That is disturbingly romantic.”
“Lyra.”
“Moving.”
They reached the rear loading dock.
A black sedan blocked the exit.
Luca stood beside it.
No gun visible.
Vincent Caruso stood beside him.
Older.
Heavyset.
Perfectly tailored.
Lyra recognized him from her father’s photograph.
Vincent smiled.
“Antonio’s girl.”
Noah raised his weapon.
Vincent’s men raised theirs.
Luca lifted a hand.
“This doesn’t need to become messy.”
Noah laughed.
“You burned her shop.”
Vincent shrugged.
“Sentiment is expensive.”
“You killed her father.”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“That remains unproven.”
Lyra stepped out from behind Noah.
“No.”
He tried to move her back.
She resisted.
“Lyra.”
“I need him talking.”
Vincent smiled.
“Exactly like Antonio.”
“Did you kill him?”
Luca looked almost bored.
“Your father signed his own death sentence when he refused to destroy the records.”
There.
Lyra’s phone recorded from her pocket.
“Who ordered it?”
Luca realized too late.
His eyes sharpened.
Vincent laughed.
“You always did talk too much, Luca.”
Luca turned toward him.
That tiny division was enough.
Noah fired at the overhead lights.
Darkness.
Paulie’s men moved.
Lyra dropped.
Gunfire detonated through the warehouse.
She crawled behind the sedan.
Someone fell nearby.
Someone screamed.
Then a hand caught her ankle.
Vincent.
He pulled her backward.
Lyra kicked.
His fist connected with her ribs.
Pain exploded.
He dragged her up and pressed a gun beneath her jaw.
“ENOUGH!”
The shooting stopped.
Noah froze twenty feet away.
Lyra had never seen his face look like that.
Not rage.
Terror.
Vincent held her against his chest.
“You see?” he called. “Predictable.”
Noah lowered his weapon slowly.
“Let her go.”
“Drop it.”
Noah placed the gun on the concrete.
Paulie swore.
Vincent smiled.
“All this over a seamstress.”
“Tailor,” Lyra said.
Vincent blinked.
She drove the sharp metal point of her seam ripper into his thigh.
He screamed.
The gun shifted.
Lyra ducked.
Noah moved.
One shot.
Vincent fell.
Silence.
Lyra remained crouched.
Her ears rang.
Noah crossed the distance.
He did not check Vincent.
He grabbed her.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s his.”
Noah looked down.
The seam ripper remained in Vincent’s leg.
Paulie approached.
“Still alive.”
Noah’s face became cold.
Luca had vanished.
Of course.
Police sirens approached.
Noah looked toward the doors.
“We leave.”
“No.”
He stared at Lyra.
“We have the recording.”
“And seventy crates with my name on them.”
“This is not the time to become civic-minded.”
“If I run, I look guilty.”
“You are standing beside me.”
“Excellent point.”
Paulie barked a laugh.
Noah looked like he might murder both of them.
Lyra stepped toward the incoming lights.
She stopped beside Vincent.
The old man groaned.
She bent down.
“My father made your suits.”
Vincent opened one eye.
“He was a fool.”
“No.”
She looked toward Noah.
“He was a tailor.”
Federal agents entered with weapons raised.
Lyra lifted her hands.
For the next sixteen hours, everything became lawyers.
Questions.
Rooms without windows.
Coffee in paper cups.
Noah was separated from her immediately.
That was the worst part.
Lyra told the truth.
Not all of Noah’s truth.
But hers.
The ledger.
The forged manifests.
The recording.
Her father.
Luca.
Vincent.
By noon, the federal task force shifted direction.
By afternoon, Vincent Caruso was arrested from his hospital bed.
By evening, warrants were issued for Luca Moretti.
Noah was released pending investigation.
Lyra walked out of the federal building at 9:12 p.m.
Noah stood across the street.
No SUV.
No bodyguards.
Just him.
Hands in his coat pockets.
She crossed.
“You look terrible,” he said.
She stopped.
“That was my line.”
“I improved it.”
“You didn’t.”
He looked at the bruising beneath her coat.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to kill Vincent.”
“No.”
“After trial.”
“No.”
“After prison?”
“No.”
“Hypothetically?”
“Noah.”
“Fine.”
She smiled.
Then his expression changed.
“You stayed.”
“At the warehouse?”
“With the agents.”
“I had to.”
“You could have disappeared.”
“So could you.”
“I don’t disappear.”
“I noticed.”
He looked down at her.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why are you still here?”
Lyra understood the real question.
Why him?
Why the violence?
Why the obsession?
Why the impossible life?
She thought about telling him something romantic.
Instead:
“Because you bought an entire apartment floor rather than admit you were worried about my locks.”
His mouth twitched.
“Anything else?”
“You jumped into a burning shop for my father’s photographs.”
“Anything else?”
“You’re learning to ask before touching me.”
His expression softened.
“Anything else?”
She reached up and caught his lapels.
“You wear suits well.”
“There it is.”
She kissed him.
Traffic moved around them.
People passed.
For once, Noah did not scan every shadow.
He kissed her slowly.
When they separated, a black car stopped beside the curb.
Paulie stepped out.
“Sorry.”
Noah closed his eyes.
“What now?”
Paulie’s expression removed all humor.
“Luca’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“We found his townhouse empty.”
“Of course.”
“He left something.”
Paulie handed Lyra a garment bag.
Her stomach dropped.
Inside was her father’s cream suit.
The one from the warehouse.
Pinned to the lapel was a note.
COME FINISH WHAT ANTONIO STARTED.
Beneath it:
FOURTH STREET. MIDNIGHT.
Lyra checked the time.
10:07.
Noah tore the note in half.
“You’re not going.”
She stared.
“We have spent several chapters establishing how well that works.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“He wants you.”
“No. He wants the ledger.”
“That means he wants you.”
Lyra held the cream jacket.
Her father’s last suit for her.
She understood suddenly.
The lining.
Again.
Never throw away a well-made garment before checking the lining.
She reached inside.
Near the collar, her fingers found something new.
A narrow strip of fabric.
Stitched recently.
Not her father’s work.
Luca’s.
She ripped it open.
A flash drive dropped into her palm.
Paulie frowned.
“What the hell?”
Noah looked at Luca’s note.
“He wants us to bring it.”
Lyra looked toward Fourth Street in the distance.
Toward the burned shop.
Toward the place everything started.
“No.”
May you like
She closed her fingers around the drive.
“He wants me to find what’s on it.”
