Page 275 of Lorenzo

The shelf jerks again, harder this time.

“Conti,” comes Greco’s mocking voice.

When Lorenzo doesn't respond, Gracco's voice turns vicious. “Conti!” he barks. “Answer me, you coward! You're going to pay for what you did.”

Lorenzo does not give him the satisfaction.

Greco laughs once, harsh and a bit crazed. “You took everything from me, and I'm going to make sure you know what that feels like. That's what was supposed to happen.”

The glass rattles. He's clearly losing it. “And then your bitch ruined it,” he snarls. “Now I have to make you pay in a different way.”

I suppress a shudder at the clear insanity in his voice. He's obviously cracked.

“I was only going to take your boy from you, but now I'm going to take them both, and then I'm going to take her. And when you have nothing left, only then will I put you out of your misery. Or maybe I won't.”

“We have to get out of here now,” I whisper. “He has lost his damn mind.”

The door slams hard enough to make the shelf scrape several inches across the floor.

“Go first,” Lorenzo tells me.

I nod and turn toward the backroom door, keeping Mocha close as Lorenzo falls in beside me.

The back area is small enough that I can take most of it in at a glance. A cramped break area sits to the left with a table, two chairs, and a narrow counter, while the storage space takes up most of the room ahead of us. An office door stands open on the opposite wall.

I sweep my gaze past all of it, looking for something that does not belong to the store itself.

“Service access should be back here somewhere,” I murmur.

Lorenzo checks the office while I move past stacked boxes and shelving, Mocha staying tight beside me.

Then I spot a plain metal door tucked behind the far end of the storage racks.

“There.” I hurry toward it and grab the handle.

Locked. Of course.

Behind us, another impact from the front of the store carries through the walls, followed by the scrape of the shelf shifting again.

Lorenzo reaches me. “Can you get it open?”

“Probably.”

I crouch long enough to inspect the lock, then glance around the storage area for something useful. There is no time for finesse, and I do not have my tools anyway.

A narrow metal shelving unit stands beside the door.

I grab one of the loose support bars from the bottom and wedge it between the frame and the latch.

Lorenzo immediately understands what I am doing and takes the other end.

“On three,” I whisper.

We force it together.

The frame creaks.

Another crash comes from the front.