Chapter 6 - The Midnight Interrogation
The roar of automatic gunfire ripped through the wooden cabin.
Splinters of cedar exploded like shrapnel.
Daniel threw himself across the floor, knocking Isabella down behind the heavy stone hearth.
Luca grabbed me by the collar of his suit jacket and dragged me flat against the hardwood.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Heavy caliber rounds tore through the kitchen cabinets.
Plates shattered.
Canned goods burst open, spraying sauce and soup across the ceiling.
“Isabella! You brought a tracking beacon!” Luca roared over the deafening noise.
Isabella looked at her satellite phone, weeping in horror.
“The battery casing!” she screamed, tearing the phone apart.
Tucked beneath the lithium battery was a tiny, flashing micro-transponder.
Vanessa had planted it before Isabella even left the city.
“Daniel! Suppressive fire from the north window!” Luca shouted.
Daniel grabbed an AR-15 from the rack, chambered a round, and popped up behind the sill.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Muzzle flashes lit up the dark living room in violent, strobe-like pulses.
Outside, a man screamed as Daniel’s burst found its mark.
Luca turned to me, his hands gripping my shoulders.
“Emma, listen to me.”
His eyes were inches from mine, completely calm in the center of the storm.
“The back bedroom has a hidden trapdoor beneath the rug. It leads to an underground drainage culvert that empties two hundred yards down the river.”
“I’m not leaving you!” I shouted over the gunfire.
Luca’s expression softened for a fraction of a second.
“You have the drive, Emma. If they get that drive, Antonio wins. You take Isabella and you run.”
“No,” I said, digging my heels in.
“The Drake Hotel plan is the only way to end this. If we run now, Antonio will hunt us until we’re dead!”
Luca stared at me.
A sudden, fierce grin broke across his rugged face.
“You truly are something else, Emma Reed.”
He reached down to his tactical vest and pulled a smoke grenade.
He yanked the pin with his teeth.
“Cover your eyes!”
Luca hurled the canister through the shattered front window.
A thick, blinding cloud of white phosphorus smoke erupted across the front lawn.
The gunfire from outside faltered as the mercenaries lost their sightlines.
“Move! Out the side door!” Luca commanded.
We broke toward the reinforced side exit.
Luca kicked the door open.
Two mercenaries in black tactical gear were rounding the corner.
Luca didn't hesitate.
BANG! BANG!
Both men dropped into the mud.
Luca scooped up their tactical comms headsets and handed one to Daniel.
“Perimeter’s collapsing,” Daniel reported, slapping a fresh magazine into his rifle.
“Vanessa has at least twenty shooters in the tree line.”
Through the swirling smoke, a heavily armored black Cadillac Escalade idled on the dirt driveway.
Luca’s eyes locked onto it.
“We take their wheels,” Luca ordered.
We sprinted through the mud and pine needles, keeping low beneath the smoke canopy.
Bullets whizzed through the branches overhead, severing pine needles that showered over our backs.
Luca reached the Escalade first.
He yanked the driver’s door open, hauled the mercenary driver out by his tactical vest, and planted a brutal right hook into his jaw.
The man went limp in the dirt.
“Get in!” Luca yelled.
Isabella scrambled into the rear passenger seat.
I dove into the middle row right behind her.
Daniel took the front passenger seat, hanging his rifle out the window to return fire.
Luca threw the heavy SUV into reverse.
The tires spun wildly in the mud before gripping the gravel.
We launched backward, smashing straight through a mercenary supply buggy.
Metal crunched.
Luca spun the steering wheel with violent mastery, slammed the transmission into drive, and floored the accelerator.
The Escalade surged forward, plowing through the wooden estate gate and careening onto the dark, empty county highway.
Behind us, two sets of high-beam headlights pulled out of the woods in pursuit.
“They’re on our bumper!” Isabella cried, looking out the shattered rear window.
“Let them come,” Luca said, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black remote detonator.
Daniel looked over at Luca.
“You rigged the cabin?”
Luca didn't look at him.
“I rig every safehouse, Daniel. Rule number one.”
Luca waited.
He watched the two pursuit vehicles barrel past the burning cabin's driveway.
He waited until they were parallel to the propane storage tanks behind the porch.
Luca pressed the red toggle switch.
BOOM!
A catastrophic fireball tore through the night sky.
The shockwave rattled the heavy chassis of our Escalade.
The massive explosion swallowed both pursuit vehicles in a wall of orange flame and flying debris.
In the rearview mirror, the road behind us was completely blocked by a towering inferno.
No one was following us anymore.
Inside the SUV, the only sound was our ragged breathing.
Isabella collapsed back into the leather seat, shaking violently.
Daniel reloaded his weapon in silence.
Luca kept his foot steady on the gas pedal, steering us south toward the glowing skyline of Chicago.
“Isabella,” Luca said, his voice cold again.
“Yes, Luca?”
“Where did Vanessa leave Antonio?”
Isabella wiped the soot from her face.
“The Drake Hotel. Penthouse suite.”
She swallowed hard.
“Salvatore Marcone arrived twenty minutes ago. The banquet has already started.”
Luca looked over at Daniel.
“Patch their tactical radio through.”
Daniel adjusted the frequency dial on the stolen mercenary headset.
Static hissed through the SUV’s speakers.
Then a familiar, sharp voice broke through the airwaves.
“Squad One, report! Did you secure the flash drive?”
It was Vanessa.
She sounded frantic.
Desperate.
Luca grabbed the handheld radio transceiver from the center console.
He keyed the mic.
“Squad One is dead, Vanessa.”
Dead silence hit the radio.
We could hear the faint sound of jazz music and clinking champagne glasses in the background of her transmission.
“...Luca?” Vanessa whispered.
Her voice trembled with genuine, naked horror.
“You should have stayed in the kitchen, Vanessa,” Luca said softly.
“You’re a terrible assassin.”
“Luca, please! You don't understand what Antonio will do to me if—”
“I don't care what he does to you,” Luca cut her off ruthlessly.
“I’m coming for my house. I’m coming for my name. And I’m bringing your sins with me.”
Luca crushed the plastic radio transceiver in his bare hand until the circuit board snapped.
He tossed the broken pieces out the window.
He looked back at me in the rearview mirror.
“Emma.”
“Yes, Luca?”
“You still have that thermal receipt from the dining room?”
I reached into my apron pocket.
The small slip of paper was crumpled and bloodstained, but the barcode was intact.
“I have it.”
May you like
Luca nodded slowly.
“Good. That piece of paper is going to bring down the entire American Mafia.”
