Chapter 8 - The Cornered Rat
The Drake Hotel ballroom disintegrated into a battlefield of screaming elites, overturning champagne towers, and shattering mirrors. Victor Moretti’s hired mercenaries drew their weapons, but Callum and Lev’s men—who had infiltrated the catering staff and security detail—counterattacked with devastating synchronization.
Gunfire echoed off the ornate gilded ceilings. Callum moved with lethal precision, dropping two armed guards who attempted to flank the stage. But Victor and Marcus weren't looking to fight an honorable duel; seeing their empire disintegrate on live television, they broke through the backstage service exit, heading for the hotel’s subterranean delivery tunnels.
""Nadia!"" Callum called out, reaching the stage and grabbing my hand. ""Are you alright?""
""I'm fine! They ran toward the loading docks!"" I yelled over the blaring building alarms.
""Stay behind me,"" he ordered, leading the charge through the maintenance doors.
The air in the concrete loading tunnels beneath the Drake was freezing, reeking of industrial exhaust and damp cement. We followed the echo of frantic footsteps down a winding corridor lined with steam pipes.
Suddenly, a hail of automatic gunfire chipped away the concrete wall beside Callum’s shoulder. We ducked behind a steel recycling dumpster as Marcus pinned us down from fifty feet away, firing wildly from behind an armored delivery van.
""You're too late, Callum!"" Marcus screamed, his voice bouncing off the concrete in manic desperation. ""Victor has an offshore jet waiting at O'Hare! You'll never see that money! You'll never clean your family's name!""
""Cover me,"" Callum whispered to Lev, who had caught up with two loyal men.
""Don't do anything reckless,"" I pleaded, grabbing Callum’s lapel.
He looked at me, his hazel eyes fierce and clear. ""This ends tonight, Nadia. For my father. And for yours.""
Callum bolted from cover, sprinting toward a row of industrial delivery carts. Marcus swung his rifle toward him, opening fire, but Lev returned a suppressing volley that forced Marcus to duck behind the van's hood.
I looked up at the ceiling above Marcus's position. A heavy, industrial cast-iron steam manifold hung suspended by chains, its pressure gauge screaming in the red zone from the building's emergency lockdown. Right next to the junction box on my side of the wall was the manual chain release lever.
Without waiting for permission, I kicked off my high-heeled shoes, gathered the heavy hem of my silk gown, and scrambled up the metal access ladder bolted to the wall.
""Nadia! Get down!"" Callum bellowed, horror flashing across his face as he saw me exposed on the catwalk.
Marcus heard Callum’s shout and spun around, spotting me on the platform above him. A sickening, cruel smile spread across his scarred face as he aimed his rifle straight at my chest. ""Die like your old man, girl—""
Before his finger could squeeze the trigger, I threw my entire body weight onto the rusted cast-iron release lever.
The locking pin sheared off. The two-ton steam manifold tore loose from its ceiling mountings and dropped like an anvil, smashing directly onto the front of the delivery van with a cataclysmic metallic crunch. A superheated jet of scalding steam enveloped Marcus, blinding him and knocking the weapon from his hands.
He collapsed to the concrete, screaming in agony.
Callum was on him in an instant, kicking Marcus’s sidearm away into the darkness and planting his heavy boot directly onto the traitor’s chest. The scarred man lay defenseless, coughing and defeated beneath the weight of the man he had betrayed for a decade.
""Mercy, Callum..."" Marcus wheezed, blood trickling from his split lip. ""We were family...""
""My father called you a brother,"" Callum said, his voice as cold as ice water. ""And you traded his life for dirty paper.""
May you like
Callum didn't pull the trigger. He looked up at me, standing barefoot and trembling on the catwalk above, and made a conscious choice to step out of the darkness.
""You're going to prison for the rest of your miserable life, Marcus,"" Callum declared, kicking the man unconscious as the distant sirens of federal law enforcement began to flood the subterranean tunnels. ""And you're going to watch the Moretti name die from a concrete cell.""
