Chapter 6 - The Forgotten Warehouse
Matteo did not hesitate. He unclipped a flash grenade from his tactical vest, pulled the pin with his teeth, and banked it off the angled ceiling girder. The device detonated with an ear-shattering crack and an optic-scrambling wall of white light that instantly blinded the gunmen on the catwalk above.
Before the echoes died, Matteo broke from cover, sprinting through the storm of wild, blinded return fire. Concrete dust blinded his peripheral vision; a ricocheting slug ripped through the shoulder of his shirt, leaving a burning trail of crimson, but he didn't slow. He slammed his entire body weight into the massive emergency valve wheel, breaking the rusted padlock with the heavy wrench he carried at his belt.
With a roar that tore from his lungs, Matteo threw his strength into the iron spokes, spinning the wheel counterclockwise.
Dull hydraulic groans shrieked from deep within the station's foundations. Fifty feet below, giant iron sluice gates lifted. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of trapped canal water suddenly tore through the chamber with the force of an inland tsunami. The sudden, violent displacement of pressure created a monstrous vacuum, pulling air, mud, and steel downward into the primary drainage pipes.
The catwalk, anchored by corroded iron struts, began to buckle. The concrete footings supporting the upper deck shrieked as the foundation washed away into the boiling intake.
""Fall back! The whole floor is dropping!"" Marco Marcone screamed, his weapon slipping from his fingers as he grabbed wildly for the trembling railing.
Two of his mercenaries lost their footing completely, tumbling over the rail into the raging whirlpool below, their screams swallowed instantly by the roaring turbine rush. Marco scrambled desperately toward the exterior exit door, dragging his surviving guard behind him as the walkways twisted into scrap iron.
Matteo sprinted back to Clara, scooping her up into his arms just as the concrete slab they had been standing on fractured down the center. He vaulted over the widening fissure, driving his boots into the emergency maintenance ladder leading to the roofline. With Clara clinging tightly to his neck, her face buried in his chest, Matteo climbed one-handed, every muscle in his back burning with sheer adrenaline.
They burst through the rooftop skylight into the freezing rain just as the lower level of the pumping station collapsed in on itself with a muffled, thunderous roar of concrete and water. The night sky above was black and grey, torn by autumn lightning.
Down in the muddy yard, Marco Marcone was scrambling toward an armored SUV, his clothes soaked, his face wild with panic.
""Marcone!"" Matteo's voice cut through the howling wind like an artillery shell.
Marco froze, turning slowly with his hands raised. The rain beat down upon his face, stripping away the last remnants of his family's arrogant pride. He looked at Matteo standing atop the surviving concrete ledge, holding his wife safely against his side, his carbine leveled squarely at Marco's chest.
""Wait, Matteo!"" Marco shrieked, backing toward his vehicle. ""It was business! Gabriel came to us! He said you were weak! He said you would never know!""
""My father built this city with men of their word,"" Matteo said, his voice entirely devoid of rage, carrying only the absolute finality of an executioner's gavel. ""You turned it into a market for rats. Give my regards to your father. Tell him the Duca family does not negotiate with thieves.""
Matteo fired twice.
Marco Marcone dropped into the mud of the Hackensack marsh, his ambitions sinking into the black earth. The surviving guard threw his rifle to the ground, falling to his knees with his hands locked behind his head, trembling uncontrollably in the rain.
Matteo lowered the carbine. Clara let out a long, shuddering breath, her fingers tightening against his collar. Matteo looked down at her pale, beautiful face, wiping the cold raindrops from her eyes with his thumb.
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""It's over, my love,"" he whispered.
""Not yet,"" Clara said, her green eyes flashing with an inner steel that matched his own. ""Gabriel is still sitting in our cellar. And the Commission meets at dawn.""
