Chapter 46 Hunting the Hunter
They left the safe house just after 2 a.m., slipping into the city the way people do when they don’t want to be remembered.
Liam wore dark tactical gear, clean lines, nothing flashy everything hidden but within reach. Alessia matched him without thinking. The movements came back automatically, muscle memory snapping into place as if the last few weeks hadn’t shattered everything she thought she was.
“Thorne keeps a schedule,” she said as they walked. “Regular contact with his assets, always at night. Always somewhere public enough to pass as surveillance.”
“How regular?” Liam asked.
“Predictable,” she said. “Thursdays. Eleven p.m. Different locations, same formula. Bars. Diners. Anywhere a federal agent sitting with criminals looks like he’s watching them instead of working for them.”
Liam glanced at his phone. “It’s Thursday.”
“I know.” She pulled up the map on the burner Katherine had given her. “He cycles through three spots. Tonight he’ll be at Murphy’s Hell’s Kitchen. Scarpetti territory.”
Liam exhaled slowly. “Your father’s people.”
“Yes.” Her voice hardened. “And we’re documenting everything, the meeting, the money, the words.”
“And then?”
“Then we burn him,” Alessia said. “We make it impossible for the Bureau to protect him or for him to deny the allegations. Video. Audio. Faces. Names. Enough that burying it would expose them too.”
Liam studied her for a moment. “The FBI eats its own only when it has to.”
“That’s why we make it public,” she said. “We just need to get close enough.”
Murphy’s Bar looked exactly like the kind of place where nothing good ever started.
The neon sign flickered. The windows were smeared with years of grime. Inside was a blur of noise and shadow, the sort of place people went to forget and where other people went because forgetting was expected.
Perfect.
They split before reaching the door.
“I’m taking the back,” Alessia said into her mic. “Service entrance.”
“I’ll go in through the front,” Liam replied. “Get eyes on them.”
She slipped into the alley, senses sharpened, heart beating just fast enough to remind her she was alive. The service door was unlocked. Sloppy or deliberate.
Inside, the hallway smelled like grease and old beer. Laughter drifted from the bar. Glass clinked. Music playing.
She moved slowly, staying close to the wall, until she found a cracked door that gave her a clear angle into the main room.
And there he was.
Marcus Thorne.
Relaxed. Comfortable. A beer in front of him like he was just another man unwinding after a long day of pretending to enforce the law.
Across from him sat Vincent Romano and Carlo Benedetti.
Her father’s right hands.
“Visual confirmed,” she whispered. “Corner booth. Back left.”
“I see them,” Liam said. “Recording position ready.”
Alessia pulled out the camera. Small. Discreet. Built for moments exactly like this.
She hit record.
Romano leaned forward, his voice sharp. “The heat is getting heavy. That raid drew eyes. Don Salvatore isn’t pleased.”
“Tell him it’s temporary,” Thorne said calmly. “The O’Sullivans are done. Their fronts are gone. Their heir is drowning. They’ll fold.”
“And the girl?” Carlo asked. “She escaped.”
“Ia just a nuisance,” Thorne said. “Not a problem. She’ll be back in custody within forty-eight hours.”
“Don Salvatore wants her dead,” Romano said. “She knows too much.”
Thorne didn’t blink. “I’ll handle it like always. But I will be needing a compensation. The Bureau is asking questions. I need insurance.”
Romano slid an envelope across the table.
Thorne took it without hesitation.
“Fifty now,” Romano said. “Another hundred when she’s confirmed dead.”
Alessia’s grip tightened around the camera, but she kept the camera steady.
“They’re paying him to kill me,” she murmured, barely for Liam to hear.
“Keep recording,” Liam said, his voice tight.
Thorne took a drink. “And the Council?”
“They stay out of it,” Carlo said. “As long as balance is maintained.”
“And this maintains balance?”
“For now.” Romano leaned in. “But if this goes public, you’re on your own.”
“I’ve always been,” Thorne said coolly.
The conversation went on, operations, leaks, coordination that stretched back years. Corruption laid bare.
Enough to ruin him.
When Romano and Carlo finally stood, Alessia eased back.
“They’re done,” she said. “Get out.”
She turned toward the service exit.
She heard footsteps behind her.
Fast.
Her hand moved instinctively to grab a blade.
A kitchen worker brushed past her, trash bag slung over one shoulder, oblivious.
She forced herself to breathe, removing her hand from the blade.
Outside, the alley was empty. She moved quickly, cutting toward the street.
Through the grimy front window, she saw Thorne stand.
He shrugged into his jacket.
Then he turned.
For a split second, their reflections aligned in the glass.
His eyes met hers.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t react.
He smiled.
Slow. Knowing.
Then he tapped his ear.
"Hello, Alessia."
Alessia’s blood went cold.
“Liam,” she whispered. “He saw me. He knows we were there, the recording.”
“Get to the car,” Liam snapped. “Now.”
She ran.
Cut through alleys. Changed direction. Broke patterns.
Five blocks later, she dove into the parking garage
Liam was already there.
She slammed the door shut as he drove out.
“Did he follow?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.” Her hands shook. “But he knew. And he wasn’t afraid.”
“Did you get it?”
“Yes,” she said. “All of it.”
“Then we move,” Liam said. “We don’t slow down.”
“And if he comes for us?”
Liam’s smile was thin. Dangerous, the kind that made someone shiver.“Then he won’t like what he finds.”
They disappeared into the night.
Behind them, Marcus Thorne was already thinking of a plan.
He’d seen Alessia.
He knew she was free.
And his smile had promised one thing.
The hunt had begun.
And this time, the hunter knew he was being hunted.