Chapter 3: The Cold Run
Lock down the bridge!" Matteo roared into the phone, his mafia boss persona taking over instantly. "Don't let that chopper take off!"
"They've disabled the ship’s automated anti-air systems, Matteo," Marco warned. "If we don't get there in two minutes, they fly clear into international airspace."
Matteo slammed the phone down and reached into a hidden drawer beneath his desk, pulling out a sleek, suppressed black handgun. He checked the magazine with a practiced click.
"Stay here," he ordered Lena, his eyes locked on hers. "Lock the door."
"No," Lena said, stepping forward, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination. "Vivian's family killed my father. They ruined my life. I’m not sitting in a luxury suite while they escape. I know the service corridors of this ship better than your men do. If you take the main stairs, their lookouts will see you. I can get you to the helipad unseen."
Matteo stared at her for a split second, evaluating the danger. A small, dark smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You have your father’s spine, Lena. Lead the way."
Lena threw open a hidden service door in the pantry of the suite, leading Matteo down a narrow, metallic labyrinth of pipes and roaring engine vents. They moved like shadows, bypassing the main passenger decks where the wealthy guests were still gossiping about the stolen diamonds.
As they reached the upper maintenance deck just below the helipad, the deafening roar of helicopter blades vibrated through the steel ceiling. The freezing Alaskan wind whipped against their faces as they pushed open the heavy exit door.
Outside, the luxury cruise ship was shrouded in a thick mist. On the helipad, a private twin-engine helicopter was revving its engines.
Vivian, now wearing a heavy mink coat, was hurrying toward the chopper cabin, holding a black leather briefcase tight to her chest. Beside her was her father, Victor Russo, a cruel-looking older man with silver hair, pointing a gun at a terrified ship officer.
"Stop right there, Victor," Matteo’s voice boomed over the roar of the wind.
Victor snapped his head around, his eyes widening in panic as he saw Matteo and Lena emerge from the mist.
"Matteo!" Vivian screamed, her voice lost to the wind. "Stay back! Or my father will shoot!"
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"The ship is surrounded by coast guard vessels I called twenty minutes ago, Victor," Matteo lied smoothly, keeping his weapon trained on the older man. "You leave this deck, and they blow you out of the sky. Drop the briefcase."
Victor looked at the fog, then at his daughter. Seeing his empire crumbling, his face twisted into an ugly mask of desperation. He didn't drop the briefcase. Instead, he aimed his gun straight at Matteo's chest—and pulled the trigger.
