Chapter 9 - The Syndicate Strikes Back
Coughing violently, Isa grabbed Clara’s hand and pulled her toward the apartment's rear exit into the narrow hallway.
""Move! Clara, run to the roof!"" Isa yelled, but the heavy apartment door was suddenly kicked off its hinges with a thunderous splinter of wood.
Three masked gunmen burst through the smoke, their weapons drawn.
""Grab the girl!"" the lead gunman barked in a thick New Jersey accent. ""Castiglione wants Julian Hayes's daughter alive! She’s our bargaining chip to force Valente into surrendering the Manhattan shipping terminals!""
Isa grabbed an iron standing lamp, swinging it wildly, catching the first gunman across the cheek. But the second man slammed the butt of his rifle into her stomach.
Isa dropped to her knees, gasping for air, her vision blurring as heavy zip-ties were violently looped around her wrists.
""Leave her alone!"" Clara screamed, clawing at the men until a backhand strike sent her sprawling unconscious onto the kitchen floor.
""Clara!"" Isa choked out, struggling against the iron grip of the soldiers as a black burlap bag was shoved roughly over her head, plunging her into pitch darkness.
She was dragged down the fire escape, thrown roughly into the trunk of a speeding car, and bounced violently as the vehicle accelerated into the night.
Thirty minutes later, the burlap hood was ripped from her face.
Isa blinked against the harsh glare of industrial fluorescent lights. She was tied securely to a heavy metal chair in the center of an abandoned waterfront warehouse. Standing before her was Don Carmine Castiglione—a bloated, ruthless boss in his sixties, flanked by a dozen heavily armed mercenaries.
""Well, well,"" Castiglione purred, lighting a fat cigar. ""Julian's little baker. You certainly caused quite a stir in the Valente household. Richi just called an emergency commission meeting, threatening to execute my entire family because of what happened to your deadbeat father.""
Castiglione blew a thick cloud of blue smoke into her face, laughing cruelly.
""Richi thinks he’s a god because his old man left him an army. But young men in love are stupid, Miss Hayes. He’s walking straight into our trap at the Manhattan docks right now, believing you’re being held on cargo ship forty-two. By the time he realizes this warehouse is thirty miles away, my sniper team will have put three bullets through his handsome chest.""
""Richi will tear you apart,"" Isa spat, her eyes burning with pure hatred. ""You and your entire bloodline.""
""With what?"" Castiglione sneered, pulling a satellite phone from his pocket. ""Let's give him a little call before he dies, shall we? Let him hear your lovely voice one last time.""
Castiglione dialed the number, putting the speakerphone on high volume and holding it out.
The phone rang twice.
Then it clicked open.
""Castiglione,"" Richi’s voice came through the speaker. It was chillingly calm. Unnervingly quiet.
""Richi, boy!"" Castiglione chuckled maliciously. ""I have your pretty little cook tied to a chair in front of me. If you want her to draw another breath, you will order your men to stand down and sign over the Brooklyn harbors by midnight.""
There was a three-second pause on the other end of the line.
""Castiglione,"" Richi murmured, his tone devoid of all human emotion. ""Look up at the skylight.""
Castiglione frowned, lowering the phone and looking up toward the massive glass ceiling fifty feet above the warehouse floor.
CRASH!
The industrial glass exploded in a violent shower of crystalline shrapnel as six black-clad tactical operators rappelled through the ceiling on steel cables, firing suppressed automatic rifles with pinpoint military precision.
Before the mercenaries could raise their weapons, four of them collapsed onto the concrete floor with lethal chest wounds.
The heavy steel roller doors of the warehouse tore open as a massive armored truck smashed through the barrier, demolishing two parked sedans.
Stepping out from the passenger seat was Richi Valente.
He wore full combat gear over his dark clothes, a heavy assault rifle resting against his shoulder, his eyes burning with the apocalyptic fury of an archangel. Behind him poured forty heavily armed Valente soldiers, completely surrounding the remaining cartel enforcers within ten terrifying seconds.
""You thought I went to the docks?"" Richi said, his voice echoing through the vast space as he walked straight toward Castiglione, stepping over fresh corpses without glancing down. ""Did you honestly think I didn't place a military-grade GPS tracker inside the sole of Isa's boots three weeks ago?""
Castiglione backed away in sheer panic, grabbing his pistol, but Marco DeSantis appeared from the shadows behind him, effortlessly twisting the older man's arm until the bone snapped with a sickening pop.
Castiglione screamed, dropping to his knees.
Richi didn't even look at the fallen boss. He dropped his rifle, pulling a combat knife from his tactical vest, and dropped to his knees before Isa.
With two swift, gentle strokes, he cut the zip-ties from her wrists and ankles.
May you like
Isa fell forward into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. ""Richi... Richi...""
""I have you,"" Richi whispered fiercely, wrapping his massive arms around her, burying his face in her hair as his entire body shook with overwhelming relief. ""I have you, my love. Nobody will ever touch you again.""
