Chapter 7 - THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE
The smell inside the slaughterhouse was metallic and rancid, a thick mixture of old blood and damp concrete.
The guard shoved me roughly down a long, dimly lit corridor. My boots slipped on the wet grated floor. I clutched the heavy canvas duffel bag to my chest, feeling the solid weight of the ledgers—and the small pistol in my pocket—banging against my ribs.
We emerged onto a metal catwalk overlooking the massive central processing floor.
It was a cavernous room, crisscrossed with rusted meat hooks hanging from heavy iron chains. In the center of the floor, illuminated by harsh halogen work lights, was Vanessa.
She had changed out of her elegant red gown and was wearing a sleek black trench coat. She stood with her arms crossed, looking incredibly bored as she checked her diamond wristwatch.
Tied to a heavy metal chair in the center of the room was Mia.
The sixteen-year-old girl was sobbing quietly, her dark hair plastered to her tear-stained face. Her wrists were bound tightly with zip-ties, and a burly guard stood directly behind her, an assault rifle resting casually against his hip.
There were at least twenty other armed men spread out across the warehouse floor, covering every possible entrance.
“Miss Bellini!” the guard who had dragged me in shouted over the hum of the ventilation fans. “Found a stray rat at the back door!”
Vanessa looked up at the catwalk. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized my ruined uniform.
“Bring her down here,” Vanessa ordered, a cruel smile spreading across her lips.
The guard grabbed my hair and dragged me down the metal stairs. I stumbled, crying out in genuine pain as my knees slammed against the concrete floor.
Vanessa walked slowly toward me, the heels of her boots clicking sharply.
“Well, well,” Vanessa purred, stopping inches from my face. “Hannah the housekeeper. The clumsy little maid who just didn't know when to keep her mouth shut.”
She looked down at the heavy canvas bag in my arms.
“Luca sent you to do his dirty work?” she laughed, a high, mocking sound. “How pathetic. The great boss of Chicago, sending a servant to negotiate for his sister’s life because he’s too terrified to face me himself.”
“He isn't terrified of you,” I said, forcing my voice to stop shaking. “He just didn't want to look at you again.”
Vanessa’s smile vanished. She stepped forward and slapped me across the face with the back of her hand.
The heavy diamond ring on her finger caught my cheek, tearing the skin. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Shut your mouth,” Vanessa hissed. She reached out and snatched the duffel bag from my hands. “Is this it? The ledgers?”
“Yes,” I lied, looking at the ground, playing the terrified victim exactly as Luca had instructed.
Vanessa eagerly unzipped the heavy canvas bag.
She reached inside, her manicured hands searching through the dark. She expected to feel the rough leather bindings of the syndicate’s financial records.
Instead, her fingers brushed against the small wooden music box.
She frowned, pulling it out. The delicate wooden lid popped open.
The fragile, haunting melody of the ballerina music box began to tinkle through the silent, echoing slaughterhouse.
Vanessa stared at the small wooden box, absolute confusion twisting her features.
“What is this?” she demanded, looking at me.
Before I could answer, the glass skylight directly above Vanessa shattered into a million pieces.
The explosion of glass rained down like jagged hail. The guards shouted, raising their weapons blindly toward the ceiling.
But Luca didn't come through the skylight. He had thrown a flashbang grenade through it.
The grenade detonated in mid-air with a blinding flash of white light and a concussive boom that completely deafened everyone in the room.
I squeezed my eyes shut and threw myself flat onto the concrete, exactly as Luca had trained me to do.
Complete chaos erupted.
Vanessa screamed, dropping the music box as she covered her eyes. The guards fired wildly into the shadows, blinded by the flash.
Through the smoke and confusion, Luca emerged from the dark maintenance corridor directly behind Mia’s chair. He hadn't come from the roof; he had used the skylight strictly as a distraction.
He moved with terrifying, lethal precision. Two silenced shots dropped the guards standing closest to his sister.
He reached Mia, sliced the zip-ties on her wrists with a combat knife, and pulled her out of the chair.
“Run to the catwalk, Mia!” Luca ordered, shoving her toward the metal stairs.
The teenager didn't hesitate. She scrambled up the stairs, disappearing into the shadows of the upper level.
But the flashbang's effect was wearing off. The Bellini guards blinked the spots from their eyes, realizing the boss of the Moretti family was standing right in the center of the kill zone.
“Shoot him!” Vanessa shrieked, pointing at Luca.
A dozen rifles swung toward him.
Luca didn't run. He stood his ground, raising two heavy black pistols, ready to take as many of them down with him as he could.
I lay on the concrete, my heart screaming. They were going to tear him to pieces.
I reached into my apron pocket. My fingers wrapped around the cold, textured grip of the pistol Luca had given me.
Do not pull it out unless you are going to pull the trigger.
I didn't think about the morality of it. I didn't think about my soul. I thought about the man who had pulled me up onto a broken fire escape, and the terrified sixteen-year-old girl hiding on the catwalk.
I pulled the gun from my pocket, aimed directly at the massive guard leveling a shotgun at Luca’s back, and squeezed the trigger.
The recoil slammed into my palm, sending a shockwave up my arm.
The guard cried out, dropping his shotgun as the bullet tore through his shoulder.
The shot drew the attention of three other guards. They turned toward me, raising their weapons.
I scrambled backward on the slick concrete, terrified, preparing for the impact of their bullets.
But the shots never came.
Instead, the massive steel rolling doors at the front of the slaughterhouse violently buckled inward.
A heavy, armored SWAT truck smashed completely through the metal barricade, tearing the doors off their tracks and sending sparks flying across the floor.
Dozens of heavily armed FBI tactical agents poured out of the back of the truck, laser sights sweeping the room, assault rifles raised.
“FBI! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” a voice roared through a megaphone.
The Bellini guards, realizing they were completely surrounded and outgunned, immediately dropped their rifles, raising their hands in surrender.
Vanessa stood frozen in the center of the floor, staring at the SWAT truck in absolute disbelief.
A tall man in a dark trench coat stepped out from behind the tactical team. It was the lead FBI agent.
But he wasn't looking at Vanessa, or the guards. He was looking at Luca.
Luca lowered his pistols. He looked at the FBI agent, then at the heavy canvas duffel bag lying on the floor—the bag containing the real ledgers.
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He had made a deal.
The cavalry hadn't arrived to save the mafia boss. They had arrived to arrest him.
