Chapter 183: 183

JASMINE

When I open my apartment door, my hands shake so strongly I can barely turn the key. The smell of old coffee and stale cigarettes strikes me. Tired from the commotion at the hospital, the twins sob gently in their carrier. Marcus, Nico's lieutenant, looks over the hallway again behind me before following me into the building.

He orders, his heavy Boston accent breaking through my haze of uncertainty, "Lock it behind us," double lock, chain, everything you have.

Still reeling from everything that happened, I fumble with the locks. The hospital room gunshots. Chen and Morrison collapsing. As Nico took my hand and muttered, “Run,” the blood surged over the clean floor.

I lean against the door and ask, "How do I know you're not one of them?"

Marcus takes out his phone and shows me a text message from Nico's number: "Trust Marcus. Keep J and babies safe. War coming."

"Shit. Your apartment's been trashed. I've been looking after your family for months, lady." He goes to the window and peers through the blinds.

Looking around, I see he is correct. The couch cushions are a bit misplaced. My books are out of order. The picture frames have undergone minute movement measuring fractions of an inch.

Marcus goes on, glancing behind the television, "They were looking for something. Perhaps documents, evidence that might tie you to Ferrari operations."

Behind the TV he finds a little black object about the size of a coin and says, “Listening device. Probably been here for weeks.”

My blood turns frigid. “They've been listening to everything?”

“Everything. " He smashes the gadget under his heel and keeps searching. "Your phone calls with pals, probably even you speaking to the newborns, conversations with the boss."

Marcus locates two other things: one in the kitchen and another in my bedroom. Every finding exposes me more, violates me more.

I ask, "Why didn't Nico tell me?”

He looks at me straight for a beat, then says, “Because he was trying to protect you from exactly this. The boss ain't perfect, but he loves you and those kids more than he loves his own life. All he has done is focused on maintaining your safety.”

Laughing bitterly, I say: "Safe from what? From the truth about who he really is?”

Marcus points around the damaged apartment and says, "Safe from this. From his wife's family trying to use you as leverage. From rival families who would kill you just to hurt him."

The twins' weeping gets louder, and I pick them up from their carrier, one in each arm. They are picking up on my emotional upset, terrified and hungry.

I say, turning toward the kitchen, "I have to feed them."

“Keep it fast. We can only stay here briefly."

Marcus keeps looking as I get bottles ready. From the bedroom he yells: “Found something else.”

I trail him and discover him just gazing at my wardrobe. The garments have been moved aside to show a little hole in the rear wall, only large enough for a camera lens.

“They have been watching you dress, shower, sleep." His voice is tense with rage.

I feel sick since the violation is so thorough and so personal. "How long?," he asks.

“At least three months based on the dust patterns."

"Marcus." My voice is hardly audible. "Is any of it real? What Nico and I have?"

He pivots from the closet, his worn face softening just a little. “Lady, I've worked for three generations of Ferrari men. I've never seen any of them look at a woman the way the boss looks at you.”

“But the records—”

“Fake. Voice synthesis technology." He grabs his phone and plays an audio file: "Marcus, I need you to eliminate the Taylor woman. She's become a liability."

"Listen to this now." With little gaps between words and varying degrees of background noise, the second file seems to have been taken from several sources.

“Isabella has been recording the boss for months. She may get him to say whatever her tech guys want.”

Relief surges across me. “So he didn't order Chad's death?”

"Hell no. The Moretti family handled McKelly themselves, then used fake evidence to frame the boss." Marcus starts packing baby supplies into a diaper bag. "McKelly was getting too greedy. He was meant to offer details about you but started demanding more money and threatening to reveal the business.”

“Chad was helping them, right?”

Marcus zips the bag. "But then you dumped him for the boss, and suddenly McKelly was useless. The whole relationship with you was a setup to get close to Ferrari operations.”

“So they framed Nico and killed him.”

“Two birds, one stone."

We both freeze at a gentle knock on the door. Marcus motions for me to remain silent and draws a gun.

From the hallway, a familiar female voice says "Jasmine? Please, I need to talk to you."

My heart stops. Three years ago I last heard that voice, but I would recognize it anywhere.

“Amelia?," I murmur.

Marcus says with a growl, "Don't trust anyone," and maintains his pistol pointed toward the door.

But the twins squeezed against my chest as I'm headed toward the door already. Three years spent assuming my best friend was deceased.

“Jasmine, please. I understand about the babies, about Nico. I am here to assist."

I can see a woman with shorter dark hair through the peephole, but the face is obvious. Older, smaller, but certainly Amelia.

Marcus starts, but I'm already opening the door. “Don't—”

Tears running down Amelia's face as she stands in the hall. She stares at me then at the infants and her face breaks apart.

“Oh, Jasmine, I am so sorry. For everything.”

She tries to move forward, but Marcus gets in her way with his gun.

“That comes near enough; start conversing.”

“My name is Amelia Richardson. Three years after giving testimony against the Moretti crime family, I have been in federal witness protection.” She keeps her hands visible. "I'm here because my handlers sent me. They believe Jasmine is in urgent peril.”

I find my voice: “Your handlers?, You mean the FBI?”

"Not the fictitious agents who have been deceiving you; real FBI." Amelia gazes at me. “Isabella Moretti has been working on this for more than two years. All of this—the surveillance, the phony recordings, the custody papers—is part of a plan to wipe off the Ferrari family.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I've been keeping tabs on the matter for months.” Her voice falters somewhat as I was charged by my handlers with keeping notes when Chad started working with the Morettis. “I never wanted you involved in this world, Jasmine. I tried to protect you.”

“Protect me?" My chest tightens with fury. "You let me believe you were dead!”

“I had no option. Chad was violent, far worse than you were aware. He threatened to kill me if I tried to leave him; the only way out was to vanish entirely.”

Marcus nods after a brief phone call and looks over her papers. “She is legitimate.”

“Agent?," I gaze at my former closest friend. "You're an FBI agent?"

Amelia approaches closer, her gaze set on the twins. “God, they're beautiful.” I turned one after getting into witness protection; my evidence helped convict three Moretti lieutenants.

“Are you actually here to offer assistance?”

“I'm here because Isabella Moretti has escalated her timeline. She's moving against you and the children tonight."

“What exactly are you referring to?”

“She is coming here with Moretti soldiers and phoney social services workers to take the children; she has a court order alleging they are in great risk.”

Marcus looks at his watch. “How long do we have?

“Maybe an hour. They're waiting for full darkness."

Marcus grabs the diaper bag and says, "Then we need to go now. There's a safe house in Queens."

“Wait." Amelia bars our route. "That's exactly what they're expecting. Isabella has been tracking Ferrari safe houses for months."

“Then, what would you advise?"

Amelia stares straight at me, "I have a Brooklyn federal safe house. Totally off the books. I can keep you and the babies safe while the actual FBI develops a case against the Morettis."

“And Nico? What about him?”

“He is alone right now. But we can clear him should we find adequate evidence against Isabella.”

“We are undecided between two possibilities. Trust Marcus or Amelia, my supposedly dead best friend who is currently an FBI agent.”

I inform Amelia, "I need guarantees. I need to know that—"

The lights abruptly turn off and we find ourselves in total darkness. I can see from the window that the whole block is without electricity.

“They're here," Marcus whispers, heading to the window. "Three black SUVs. Men with guns are getting out."

"Back exit?" she inquires.

“Fire escape via the bedroom.”

Amelia orders, "Go. Both of you. I'll buy you time."

She takes out her gun and makes sure the magazine is full. "My job," she says.

Marcus leads me toward the bedroom and I hear loud footsteps coming from the corridor outside my flat.

A voice screams, "Federal agents! We have a warrant for the children's protective custody!"

I am aware, though, that they are not actual federal officers. Chen and Morrison were not real, much as others are not.

With a rusty squeak, the fire escape window opens. Marcus gets out first and then guides me through with the kids.

Behind us Amelia shouts, "Show me the warrant! Badge numbers and identification first!"

Then the sound of wood splitting as they force open my door.