62

62
    Thomas sat in silence, the ticking of the wall clock filling the room like a countdown. Frank’s words still echoed in his head — trust no one. He wasn’t sure if that included Frank himself.
    He rubbed his temples, his thoughts spiraling, trying to find a thread of logic amid the madness. “Giancarlo family,” he muttered under his breath, as if saying it aloud might make it less monstrous. But it didn’t. It only made the whole thing feel more real.
    Frank was watching him — not speaking, just watching — and it made Thomas’s skin prickle. There was something unnerving about the man’s stillness, the precision of it. Frank didn’t fidget, didn’t breathe too loudly, didn’t move unless he had a reason.
    Thomas looked up at him. “You said Delia’s accounted for,” he began cautiously. “That she’s safe for now. I need more than that. If she’s caught up in this because of me, I need to know where she is. Who’s with her?”
    Frank’s expression didn’t change. “That information isn’t relevant to your current situation.”
    “Not relevant?” Thomas’s voice cracked with disbelief. “That’s my ex-wife, Frank. She’s carrying my child. She didn’t ask for any of this—she doesn’t even know what’s happening!”
    “She’s being protected,” Frank replied coolly. “That’s all you need to know. The less detail you have, the safer she’ll remain.”
    Thomas clenched his fists. “Safe? Or hidden?”
    Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone remained maddeningly calm. “Sometimes, Mr. Henson, those words mean the same thing.”
    Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but a sharp, staccato knock broke through the tension.
    Three quick raps, a pause, then two more — deliberate, coded.
    Frank’s head turned toward the door instantly. His posture shifted, controlled but alert.
    Thomas frowned. “Expecting someone?”
    Frank didn’t answer. He stood, moving with smooth, measured precision, and crossed the room. His hand brushed lightly against the inside of his jacket — a motion Thomas recognised from a dozen action movies but had never seen up close before. The way Frank’s fingers lingered there made Thomas’s stomach twist.
    The knock came again, more urgent this time.
    Frank’s jaw tightened. “Stay here,” he murmured. “Do not move.”
    Thomas swallowed hard. “Frank—what’s going on?”
    Frank gave no reply. He opened the door a fraction, just enough for a sliver of the dim hallway light to cut across the floor. A shadow filled the gap — tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakably male.
    “Sir,” came a low voice, tense, edged with something like alarm. “We’ve got a situation.”
    Frank’s tone didn’t change, but Thomas noticed the subtle stiffening in his shoulders. “Define ‘situation.’”
    The man hesitated. “Outside contact. Not one of ours. He’s asking for you by name.”
    Thomas’s heart rate spiked. “Who is it?” he blurted, before he could stop himself.
    Frank ignored him. “Where?”
    “Ground level. Says it’s urgent. Wouldn’t say more. He’s armed.”
    Frank exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. Then he said, in that same quiet, controlled voice, “Contain it. No unnecessary engagement until I arrive.”
    “Yes, sir.” The man disappeared, his footsteps fading quickly down the corridor.
    Frank closed the door and turned back to Thomas, his expression as smooth as ever.
    “What was that?” Thomas demanded. “Armed? Frank, what’s happening?”
    “Nothing that concerns you,” Frank replied, already moving toward the narrow wardrobe in the corner. He opened it, revealing not clothes, but a small, locked case mounted on the inside wall. With a few swift movements, he keyed in a code Thomas couldn’t see and withdrew a sleek handgun, checking the magazine with efficient precision.
    Thomas’s throat went dry. “Jesus Christ… are you planning to use that?”
    “If necessary.” Frank’s tone was so casual it made Thomas’s blood run cold.
    “Who’s outside? Is it Samantha’s people? The Giancarlos?”
    “I don’t know yet.” Frank’s answer was clipped, his focus already elsewhere. He holstered the weapon inside his jacket, then straightened, composure snapping back into place like a mask. “You’re not to leave this room. No calls, no messages, no noise. Do you understand?”
    Thomas stood, anger breaking through his fear. “You can’t just leave me here without an explanation! I deserve to know what’s going on!”
    Frank paused by the door, hand resting lightly on the frame. “Deserve is a dangerous word in our line of work, Mr. Henson.” His eyes met Thomas’s — pale, glacial, and utterly without warmth. “Stay put. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, someone else will come for you.”
    And then he was gone.
    The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Thomas alone in a silence that felt heavier than before.
    He stared at the door for several seconds, half-expecting Frank to reappear, to reassure him that it was a false alarm. But the hallway remained silent.
    A bead of sweat slid down the back of his neck.
    “Damn it,” he whispered.
    Minutes crawled by. The clock ticked louder, every second stretching into an eternity. He tried to tell himself that Frank had it under control. That whatever was happening, he was used to handling it. But the longer the silence dragged on, the less convincing that thought became.
    Thomas’s breath caught.
    And then silence again.
    “Frank?” he called, his voice hoarse. “Frank, what’s going on?”
    No answer.
    The silence stretched.
    He didn’t dare breathe.
  Frank moved down the hallway with measured precision, each step silent, deliberate. The voice outside, the threat, had been urgent, aggressive—but it had vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. The moment he reached the street-level exit, the figure that had called for him was gone. No trace, no clue, nothing but the lingering adrenaline and the faint smell of fear.
  His jaw tightened. Something didn’t sit right. The street was empty, but Frank’s instincts screamed that the danger hadn’t disappeared—it had shifted. And one thought cut sharper than the adrenaline racing through his veins: Delia.
  He had promised her parents he would keep her safe. Not just safe, but hidden. The plan had been meticulous. The location of his apartment had been a secret; no one should have known she was there. And yet, that nagging unease clawed at him. What if she had been discovered? What if the Giancarlo family had somehow traced their way to her sanctuary while he was drawn out?
  Frank didn’t wait to think. He reached for his phone, calling his driver with a single word: “Now.”
  The sleek black SUV waited a block away, engine humming softly in the night. Frank slid into the back seat, scanning the street one last time, noting the shadows, the alleyways, the subtle movements that might betray a tail. The city had gone quiet again, but he didn’t trust it.
  “Take me to my apartment,” he ordered, voice calm, clipped, eyes narrowing. “And step on it.”
  The driver nodded, understanding the urgency without question. The SUV melted into the traffic, tires whispering over wet asphalt. Frank’s mind moved faster than the vehicle, running through every possible scenario: break-in, confrontation, hostages, collateral.
  By the time the SUV pulled up outside his building, Frank’s pulse had settled into a controlled rhythm, but his senses were razor-sharp. The door to his apartment was ajar. A faint creak whispered through the hallway.
  He didn’t wait for explanations. He stepped inside, scanning every corner, noting the disruption. His apartment had been ransacked. Drawers yanked open, papers scattered, furniture shifted. Whoever had come through had been deliberate, searching for something—or someone.
  Frank’s fingers brushed the weapon at his side as he tapped the earpiece. “Team Alpha, secure the perimeter. Find them. Now.”
  “Yes, sir,” came the clipped reply.
  He moved quickly through the living area, each step controlled, trained. Every room, every corner, was swept for signs of life. He needed to know, needed to confirm: was Delia still there? The thought of the Giancarlo family laying a hand on her ignited a cold fury in his chest. He had promised her parents, and he never broke promises.