Chapter 6 - THE RAT IN THE BASEMENT
The cold inside the warehouse was bitter, smelling of old grease and copper. I slipped behind a massive steel support pillar, blending into the ink-black shadows.
Above, the metal catwalks groaned under shifting weight.
“Dante!” Lorenzo’s voice echoed through the rafters, distorted by the cavernous ceiling. “Come out, boy! You think you’re your father? Antonio was a king! You’re just a spoiled brat who got lucky in a ditch fifteen years ago!”
A laser sight swept across the floor, pausing two inches from my boot.
I didn't answer. Silence was the best weapon a predator owned.
“Silvio is waiting at the estate,” Lorenzo continued, his footsteps clanging softly on the iron grating above. “He’s already taken over the boardroom. The capos have sworn fealty to him. You have no family left, Dante. You have no soldiers. All you have is a crippled old woman and a thieving maid who’s going to choke on her own blood before sunrise!”
BOOM!
I stepped out from behind the pillar and fired the twelve-gauge directly through the corrugated metal floor of the catwalk above Lorenzo’s voice.
A scream tore through the rafters. A heavy body plummeted thirty feet through the air, crashing through a wooden packing crate with a sickening crunch of broken ribs. It wasn't Lorenzo—it was one of his hitmen, writhing on the concrete, clutching a shattered thigh.
Before the other two could acquire my position, I dropped the shotgun, drew my twin .45s, and fired four rapid rounds into the catwalk lighting junction.
The entire warehouse went black.
Muzzle flashes erupted from the upper level as the remaining men panicked, firing blind into the darkness. Lead chipped the concrete around my feet, sending stinging shards into my face.
I moved like a wraith through the rows of rusted freezer coils. I knew this building; I had mapped every blind corner three years ago when I first suspected betrayal in the ranks.
I appeared behind the second shooter at the foot of the iron staircase. One clean, silenced shot to the back of the knee brought him down; a swift strike with the butt of my pistol sent him into unconsciousness.
That left Lorenzo.
I stepped onto the central floor. The moonlight filtering through the high clerestory windows cast long, pale bars across the concrete.
Standing thirty feet away, clutching an empty MP5, was Lorenzo. His side was bleeding where buckshot had grazed his ribs, and his face was twisted in an animal snarl. He threw the empty gun to the floor and pulled a long, serrated combat blade from his boot.
“Come on, then!” Lorenzo roared, his eyes wild. “Let’s finish it like men, not like your coward father!”
I slowly lowered my pistol, holstered it, and took off my leather gloves, tossing them onto the floor.
“My father died an honorable man,” I said, my voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “You burned a woman who was trying to save an eighteen-year-old boy. You broke her spine, left her in a ditch, and took her husband’s life.”
“She was a pest!” Lorenzo spat, lunging forward with blinding speed, the blade slashing in a deadly upward arc toward my throat. “Just like you!”
I sidestepped the blade by millimeters, feeling the cold steel kiss the air in front of my chin. Before he could recover his balance, I seized his wrist with both hands, twisting it with the brutal, practiced torque of a man who had killed in closed rooms since he was a teenager.
CRACK.
Lorenzo howled as his radius snapped. The knife clattered to the concrete.
Without breaking momentum, I drove my elbow into his jaw, shattering teeth, followed by a vicious knee into his solar plexus. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, clutching his ruined arm to his chest.
I placed the sole of my heavy boot squarely against his chest, driving him flat onto his back.
I drew my Kimber, thumbing back the hammer, and pressed the freezing muzzle directly between his eyebrows.
“Where is Silvio?” I asked.
Lorenzo spit a mouthful of blood onto my trousers, a dying hyena’s grin spreading across his battered lips.
“Go home, Don Dante,” he gurgled. “Silvio isn't waiting at the warehouse. He took thirty men to your mansion. He’s burning every paper, every file, every dollar your father ever left you. By morning, you won't even exist.”
“He forgot one thing,” I whispered.
Lorenzo frowned, his eyes flickering with sudden, genuine terror. “What?”
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“The fire didn't kill me fifteen years ago,” I said. “And tonight, it’s going to consume him.”
I pulled the trigger.
