Chapter 8 - The Steel Mill
The abandoned steel mill on Route 9 loomed against the darkening sky like a rusted skeleton.
Massive smokestacks pierced the heavy clouds, and the sprawling complex of corrugated metal and broken glass felt entirely devoid of life. It was a place designed for things to disappear.
Lorenzo parked the Audi a quarter-mile away, hiding it behind a crumbling concrete retaining wall.
He turned the engine off. The silence inside the car was suffocating.
He looked at me. His dark eyes were devoid of the fierce confidence he usually carried. He looked like a man walking to his own execution.
“I need you to stay in the car, Rebecca,” Lorenzo said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“No,” I refused instantly, my voice trembling but absolute. “They have my father. I’m not waiting in the car while you die for him.”
“Rebecca, please,” Lorenzo pleaded, reaching out and gently touching my cheek. “Silas has an army in there. I am walking in with a target on my chest. If you come with me, I can't protect you.”
“I don't care,” I said, tears spilling hot and fast down my face. “He’s my dad, Lorenzo. We go together.”
He studied my face, seeing the unbending resolve in my eyes. The baker’s daughter was terrified, but she wasn't going to hide.
He let out a heavy, defeated breath and nodded.
“Stay exactly behind me,” he ordered, pulling his handgun from its holster. He racked the slide, the mechanical click echoing loudly in the quiet car.
He grabbed the heavy leather ledger from the backseat, tucking it securely under his left arm.
We stepped out into the freezing dusk air.
We approached the massive, rusted iron doors of the main factory floor. Lorenzo pushed them open. They groaned violently, announcing our arrival.
The interior of the mill was cavernous, smelling of rust, oil, and decay. Weak shafts of evening light filtered through the broken skylights high above, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Standing in the center of the vast, empty concrete floor, surrounded by at least twenty heavily armed men, was Silas Romano.
And kneeling on the concrete before him, his hands bound behind his back, was my father.
“Dad!” I screamed, stepping out from behind Lorenzo.
“Becky! Stay back!” my father yelled, blood dripping down his face from a deep gash on his forehead.
Silas chuckled, his raspy voice echoing off the metal walls.
“How touching. A family reunion,” Silas mocked, stepping forward. He was wearing a fresh white suit, completely unbothered by the dirt and rust of the mill.
Silas held out his hand.
“The ledger, Lorenzo. Toss it over, and I’ll let the baker and his daughter walk away.”
“You’re a liar, Silas,” Lorenzo said, his voice carrying clearly across the distance. His gun remained pointed at the ground, a sign of parley. “The moment I hand you that book, your men will open fire.”
“Perhaps,” Silas smiled thinly. “But you don't have a choice. Toss the book, or I shoot the old man right now.”
Silas pulled a silver revolver from his coat and aimed it directly at my father’s head.
“No!” I sobbed, gripping Lorenzo’s arm.
Lorenzo didn't move. He stared at Silas, his mind calculating a thousand impossible variables in a split second.
Answer one. Silas was going to kill us regardless of whether he got the book.
Open two. How did Silas breach the DeMarco estate, and where were Lorenzo’s men?
“How did you get him, Silas?” Lorenzo asked calmly, stalling for time. “My estate is a fortress.”
Silas grinned, lowering the revolver slightly. Villains always loved to explain their victories.
“You have a rat in your house, Lorenzo,” Silas sneered. “Your trusted housekeeper, Maria. She’s been on my payroll for five years. She drugged the old man’s coffee, wheeled him out the service entrance to my men, and bypassed your entire security detail.”
I felt sick. Maria, the woman who had brought me clothes and smiled at my father, had betrayed us.
“Now,” Silas snapped, raising the gun back to my father’s head. “The book. Now.”
Lorenzo slowly raised his left arm, holding the heavy leather ledger out.
“You want it, Silas?” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal pitch. “Come take it from me.”
Silas’s eyes narrowed. He motioned to two of his men.
The two guards walked forward, their rifles aimed directly at Lorenzo’s chest. They reached him, snatching the book from his hand.
They walked backward, returning to Silas, and handed him the ledger.
Silas looked down at the black leather. A look of absolute, triumphant victory washed over his scarred face. He had won. He had the proof. He would rule the city.
“Kill them,” Silas ordered his men casually, turning his back on us to walk away.
The twenty guards raised their rifles.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my face into Lorenzo’s back, waiting for the deafening roar of gunfire.
But the roar didn't come from the rifles.
It came from the sky.
A massive, concussive explosion shattered the skylights above us.
Glass rained down like deadly hail. Silas’s men screamed, diving for cover as the roof of the steel mill literally tore open.
Four black tactical helicopters hovered directly above the gaping hole in the roof, the deafening thrum of their rotors shaking the entire building.
Ropes dropped from the sides of the choppers, and dozens of men dressed in black tactical gear repelled down to the factory floor in seconds, armed with military-grade assault rifles.
But these weren't Lorenzo’s men.
They wore a distinct insignia on their shoulders: a golden eagle holding a scale.
The enforcers of the Commission.
“Drop your weapons!” a voice boomed over a loudspeaker from one of the helicopters. “By order of the Five Families, surrender immediately!”
Silas’s men, realizing they were entirely outgunned and facing the absolute authority of the mafia high council, threw their weapons to the concrete floor and put their hands on their heads.
Silas froze, staring up at the helicopters, the ledger clutched tightly in his hands.
“No,” Silas whispered, panic finally breaking through his arrogant facade.
Lorenzo didn't waste a second.
While the Commission enforcers secured the building, Lorenzo sprinted across the factory floor, diving sliding into my father, shielding him from any stray bullets.
I ran after him, dropping to my knees beside my dad, frantically untying the thick ropes binding his hands.
“Dad! Are you okay?” I cried, hugging him fiercely.
“I’m fine, Becky,” he coughed, hugging me back with weak, trembling arms. “I’m fine.”
Lorenzo stood up, his gun holstered, and turned to face Silas.
Silas was surrounded by five Commission enforcers, their rifles aimed directly at his chest.
Stepping out from the shadows of the factory entrance, flanked by two bodyguards, was an elderly man in a pristine, tailored suit, holding a silver-tipped cane.
Don Falcone. The head of the Commission.
“Silas Romano,” Falcone said, his gravelly voice echoing in the quiet factory. “You are ordered to stand down.”
Silas sneered, holding the ledger up triumphantly.
“You can't touch me, Falcone!” Silas shouted, his voice desperate. “I have the proof! I have the ledger! Vincenzo DeMarco embezzled millions from the Families, and this book proves it! Lorenzo is a traitor by blood!”
Falcone stopped a few feet away. He looked at Lorenzo, then back at Silas.
“Read it, Silas,” Falcone said calmly.
Silas frowned. He looked down at the ledger in his hands.
He flipped the cover open.
The color completely drained from his scarred face.
He flipped another page. And another.
May you like
He dropped the book onto the concrete floor in absolute horror.
The pages were entirely, completely blank.
