Chapter 8 - Counterstrike in the Storm
The realization that Claire had risked her life to try and save my wife three years ago extinguished any remaining distrust in my heart. We were no longer just a mob boss and a maid thrown together by chance; we were two survivors bound by a shared enemy and a common crusade.
"Victor thinks we are cornered in this house," I said, pulling up the estate's blueprint on a battery-powered tactical tablet. "He’s keeping his command team back in the armoured transport parked near the outer gate, waiting for his mercenaries to bring out our bodies."
"We can't stay defensive forever," Claire agreed, checking the sight alignment on her rifle. "They have thermal equipment and explosives. Eventually, they will breach the panic room doors. We need to take out their command structure now."
We utilized the estate’s historic underground wine cellar, which reconnected to an old smuggling tunnel built during the Prohibition era. The tunnel led out to an abandoned caretaker’s shed located fifty yards behind the enemy's perimeter line.
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We emerged into the freezing rain and blinding mud of the Chicago storm. Moving through the dense tree line like shadows, Claire provided sniper cover from the elevation of a stone gazebo while I circled around the rear of the armored transport. The storm masked our movements perfectly. One by one, the outer guards patrolling the perimeter disappeared into the dark grass without making a sound.
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