“What did you do?!” Don Falcone roared, accompanied by the deafening sound of a massive explosion in the background. Glass shattered violently through the audio feed.
Carter gasped, staring at the phone. “Dad! Are you okay?!”
“The compound!” Falcone sobbed, the sound of heavy automatic gunfire rattling fiercely over the line. “They came out of nowhere! Helicopters, tactical teams in black! The gates are gone! The guards are dead! They blew the vault, Carter! The accounts are zeroed out, the servers are burning—everything is gone! The whole empire! What did you do, Carter?! Who did you touch?!”
Carter’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He slowly raised his eyes, looking over the edge of the phone at the frail, elderly woman in the frayed coat.
“Dad…” Carter choked out, a tear spilling over his cheek and cutting through the laser on his face. “It was… it was just an old lady with a cart. In the parking lot.”
A horrifying silence fell over the phone line. The gunfire in the background seemed to fade as realization struck the ruthless mafia boss on the other end.
“An old woman?” Falcone whispered, his voice hollowing out into pure despair. “Did she… did she have a key?”
“Yes,” Carter wept.
“Oh, God,” Falcone gasped. The sound of a heavy door being kicked in shattered the audio, followed by men shouting in a foreign language. “You killed us, Carter. You killed us a—”
The call abruptly disconnected.
The parking lot was dead silent. The only sound was the distant rustling of palm trees and the low hum of the luxury car engines left running.
Carter’s phone slipped from his fingers. It hit the pavement with a sharp crack, the screen shattering outward.
His legs finally gave out.
The heir to the Falcone empire collapsed forward, his knees splashing directly into the same muddy puddle where he had thrown his watch. He fell forward onto his hands, the filthy water soaking into his expensive clothes, ruining the designer fabric.
He was exactly where he had ordered Martha to be.
Viktor remained bowed beside him, not daring to move an inch, accepting his fate with a soldier’s discipline.