I looked up at Damiano, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The elevator down the hall let out a sharp, electronic chime.

The elevator chime echoed in the quiet hallway.

I froze, the phone slipping slightly in my damp palm.

Damiano did not flinch.

He stepped to the wall monitor, his fingers tapping the polished glass screen.

The feed showed the private foyer just outside his penthouse door.

Two of his guards stood there, hands resting near their holsters.

“He won’t get past the lobby,” Damiano said, his voice flat.

“He has police with him,” I whispered, my throat tight.

“He has connections, Damiano. He’ll use them.”

Damiano turned back to me, his expression unreadable.

“The city police do not have jurisdiction in this building,” he said.

“Not without a warrant I haven’t already paid to delay.”

He walked over to the tall windows, looking down at the rainy street far below.

The rain smeared the city lights into long, glowing streaks of red and yellow.

“But he is bold,” Damiano murmured. “Boldness can be expensive.”

He looked back at me, his gray eyes steady.