Chapter 13 - Cold Steel and Gasoline
When I opened my eyes, the world smelled of rust, river mud, and industrial rot.
A single halogen work light hung from high corrugated steel rafters, swaying
gently in the cold draft.
I was tied to a rusted metal folding chair in the center of a cavernous,
abandoned warehouse.
My wrists were bound behind my back with heavy industrial zip-ties.
My head throbbed with a sickening migraine from the chloroform.
I tried to pull against the plastic restraints, but the edges cut into my
bruised skin.
Footsteps clicked on the cracked concrete floor.
A silhouette stepped into the pool of yellow light.
Not Adrien.
Not Antonio.
Rosa Duca.
Adrien’s sweet, twenty-two-year-old sister.
The girl who had laughed with me over pasta at the family mansion.
She wore a high-end designer trench coat and black leather driving gloves.
In her hand, she carried my father’s carved wooden jewelry box.
"You're awake," Rosa said, her voice bright and terrifyingly cheerful.
"Good. I hate talking to unconscious people. It’s so boring."
"Rosa?" I choked out, my throat raw.
"What... what is this?"
"This, dear Lena, is a family cleanup," Rosa said, tapping the wooden box with a
manicured fingernail.
"My idiot brothers made such a mess. Adrien is a reckless sociopath, and Victor
is a tragic martyr with a bleeding heart."
She pulled a delicate silver lockpick from her pocket and expertly began working
on the wooden box’s antique brass latch.
"You?" I breathed, the horror sinking in.
"You were behind this?"
"Oh, please," Rosa scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Do you think Adrien was smart enough to locate you in Wicker Park? Do you think
he knew how to clone your apartment key? He was a brute. I handled the
intelligence."
The lock clicked.
Rosa opened the lid, discarding my mother’s cheap costume jewelry onto the
concrete floor.
She pressed her thumb against the interior wood, finding the secret release.
The false bottom popped open.
Inside lay a micro-cassette and a thick, yellowed set of handwritten ledgers.
The evidence that could bring down the entire shipping cartel.
Rosa’s face lit up with pure, unadulterated greed.
"Forty million dollars in offshore Swiss bearer bonds," she purred, flipping
through the brittle pages.
"My father hid them before he was arrested. And now they belong to me."
"You'll never get away with this," I spat.
"The FBI knows about the family."
"The FBI thinks Antonio and Adrien are the cartel," Rosa replied, pulling a
heavy glass jug of industrial acetone from behind a wooden crate.
"They have no idea I exist in the corporate structure. Once I burn this
warehouse with you inside, I board a private flight to Zurich. Clean slate.
Billionaire heiress."
She unscrewed the cap of the chemical jug.
The pungent, flammable liquid splashed across the concrete around my chair.
"Wait!" I cried, panic surging through my veins.
Rosa pulled a gold lighter from her trench coat.
The flame flickered to life, reflecting in her cold, sociopathic eyes.
"Say hello to your father for me, Lena."
Before she could drop the flame, a thunderous crash echoed from the far end of
the warehouse.
A massive black pickup truck smashed through the corrugated metal bay doors at
full speed.
Debris, sheet metal, and glass exploded across the warehouse floor.
The truck skidded to a halt in the center of the bay, tires smoking on the
concrete.
The driver's door flew open.
Victor stepped out into the halogen light.
He still wore his blood-stained hospital pants.
His chest was bare, wrapped in stained surgical tape, his torn shoulder bleeding
freely through the gauze.
In his hands, he held a heavy steel crowbar.
His face was an unreadable mask of absolute, lethal fury.
"Step away from her, Rosa," Victor said, his voice echoing through the rafters
like thunder.
Rosa shrieked in rage, backing away toward the shadows.
"Kill him!" she screamed to the darkness.
May you like
Four armed mercenaries stepped out from behind the shipping containers, raising
their weapons directly at Victor’s chest.
