Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
The silo erupted into gunfire and chaos.
The second mercenary fired wildly into the air, but Luca’s men hit the concrete running, their suppressed weapons spitting controlled two-round bursts. The mercenary collapsed onto the dirt before he could take three steps.
""Mara! Down!"" Luca’s voice cut through the roar of gunfire.
I didn't think. I dropped flat onto the concrete floor, covering my head as concrete chips showered down from stray bullets.
Connor panicked. He grabbed the laptop, abandoning the table, and sprinted toward a rusted iron ladder that led to the upper catwalks fifty feet above the silo floor.
""Cover the exits!"" Luca barked to his men, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and drawing his heavy sidearm. He didn't wait. He moved toward the ladder with terrifying speed, scaling the rusted rungs like a predator closing in on wounded prey.
I scrambled to my feet, the adrenaline surging hot through my veins. ""Luca!""
I ran to the base of the silo, looking up into the shadows. High above, on the narrow steel grating of the catwalk, Connor was stumbling, coughing, clutching the laptop against his chest. The rusted metal groaned under their weight.
Luca reached the catwalk in seconds, cutting off Connor’s only escape route toward the exterior maintenance bridge.
Connor spun around, trapped against the iron railing overlooking the fifty-foot drop to the concrete below. He dropped the laptop and raised his silenced revolver with trembling hands. ""Stay back, Ferrante! I’ll shoot! I swear to God I’ll put a bullet through your skull!""
Luca didn't stop. He walked forward, completely ignoring the gun pointed at his chest, his footsteps ringing out on the metal grating like the tolls of a funeral bell.
""You had forty million dollars, Connor,"" Luca said, his voice flat, devoid of anger, which made it ten times more terrifying. ""You could have run to Europe. You could have lived like a king in Asia. But you came into my home. You left a threat in a baby’s crib.""
""She’s my daughter!"" Connor screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. ""I have rights!""
""You surrendered your rights the moment you stole her mother’s future,"" Luca snarled.
Connor pulled the trigger.
The gunshot cracked in the enclosed cylinder. The bullet grazed Luca’s left shoulder, tearing through his tactical vest and dark fabric, spraying a splash of blood. Luca didn't even flinch. He closed the remaining distance in a fraction of a second, slapping the revolver from Connor’s grip with a vicious blow that shattered Connor’s wrist.
Connor shrieked in agony, dropping to his knees.
Luca grabbed him by the throat with one hand, lifting the grown man off the grating with raw, terrifying strength, and shoved him violently against the rusted railing. The old iron creaked and bent backward under Connor’s weight, dangling him out over the empty abyss.
""Please!"" Connor wept, clutching at Luca’s iron grip on his neck, his legs kicking uselessly in the empty air. ""Take the money! Take everything! Just let me live!""
Luca leaned down until his nose almost touched Connor’s.
""I don't need your permission to take my money back,"" Luca whispered, loud enough to echo off the curved concrete walls. ""And the only thing you’re leaving behind is an apology to the woman down there.""
Luca didn't drop him.
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Instead, he hauled Connor back onto the grating, slamming his face into the steel floor with a sickening crunch that broke his nose. Luca zip-tied Connor’s wrists behind his back with brutal efficiency, then looked down over the railing straight at me.
""Call Salvatore,"" Luca shouted down to his lieutenant. ""Tell him the Irish rat is ready for delivery.""
