Chapter 12 - A Masquerade of TraitorsThe iron catwalk groaned like a dying beast.
Rivets popped out of the concrete walls like bullets.
Salvatore Bellini lost his footing instantly.
The old man shrieked as he tumbled over the railing.
He fell sixty feet through the blinding light.
He hit the concrete floor thirty yards away with a sickening, final crunch.
Matteo grabbed the remaining support cable with his burned hand.
He swung wildly over the drop.
The remote detonator slipped from his fingers.
It tumbled through the air.
It landed in the deep piles of rotting grain ten feet from where I stood.
“Get the shutoff!” Luca roared.
He didn't look up at Matteo.
He threw the heavy bolt cutters toward me.
Luca turned his rifle upward and laid down continuous suppressive fire on the remaining Bellini guards on the upper tiers.
I dove across the concrete floor.
My knees tore through my jeans.
I grabbed the bolt cutters.
I lunged toward the rusted yellow gas wheel.
The rotten-egg smell of mercaptan was so thick my eyes watered.
Every breath tasted like poison.
I clamped the jaws of the bolt cutters onto the heavy padlock chain.
I squeezed with everything in my arms.
My muscles burned.
The steel links resisted.
Above us, Matteo dropped from the swinging catwalk.
He caught the iron ladder on the third tier.
He was sliding down the metal rungs like a spider.
His eyes were locked on the red detonator in the grain pile.
“Emma! Hurry!” Michael’s voice crackled through Luca’s radio.
“Gas pressure in that sector is hitting critical!”
I threw my entire body weight onto the cutter handles.
SNAP!
The iron chain severed.
I dropped the tool and grabbed the yellow wheel with both hands.
It was rusted solid.
I pulled with all my strength.
It didn't budge.
“Move!” I screamed at the metal.
I kicked the bottom spoke with the heavy heel of my sneaker.
The rust broke with a metallic groan.
The wheel turned half an inch.
Then another full turn.
High-pressure gas screamed inside the pipes as the internal valve seated.
Hisssssss-clunk.
The hiss of gas died into silence.
The chamber went still.
Except for the heavy thud of boots landing on the floor behind me.
I spun around.
Matteo stood twenty feet away.
His scarred face was smeared with dust and soot.
In his right hand, he held a long serrated combat knife.
In his left, he clutched the recovered red detonator.
Luca stood between Matteo and me.
Luca’s rifle was empty.
The slide was locked back.
Luca tossed the empty weapon aside.
He drew his own blade from his boot.
A ten-inch carbon steel combat knife.
“Just you and me, brother,” Luca said quietly.
Matteo sneered.
His milky, lidless eye stared without blinking.
“The gas line doesn't matter,” Matteo whispered.
He held up the detonator.
“There’s enough C4 on those fertilizer barrels to level this silo.”
“Then press it,” Luca said, stepping forward.
“Press the button, Matteo. Die with me right now.”
Matteo hesitated.
His thumb trembled over the red switch.
For all his madness, Matteo was a coward.
He wanted to rule.
He didn't want to die.
May you like
Luca saw the hesitation.
And in that fraction of a second, Luca lunged.
