Chapter 8 - The Fire on the Water
The freezing wind off Lake Michigan howled like a dying animal as the black convoy rolled silently through the industrial wasteland of the Calumet River.
The rain had turned to sleet, peppering the armored glass of Luca’s custom Maybach with icy shrapnel. Beside me in the back seat, Luca was stripping out of his tuxedo jacket, pulling a reinforced Kevlar vest over his shoulders, and sliding three extra magazines into his tactical belt with practiced, mechanical precision.
In the SUV trailing behind us, bound in heavy chains and gagged with industrial tape, was Vanessa Bellini. Her red silk gown was ruined, soaked in mud and engine grease, her face swollen with terror as she realized she was being used as bait.
“You stay in the vehicle with Marco’s second-in-command until I give the all-clear,” Luca told me, checking the slide on his suppressed tactical rifle. “Do you hear me, Sophie? The moment the shooting starts, you keep your head down.”
“She’s my sister, Luca,” I whispered, clutching the door handle, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. “If she dies, I die. I can’t live in this world if they take her from me.”
Luca paused. He reached across the leather console, his gloved hand catching mine, squeezing it with an intensity that sent warmth racing straight through the icy terror freezing my blood.
“She will not die,” he promised, his eyes locking onto mine with the weight of an unshakeable mountain. “I promised you that you would never live in fear again. Trust me.”
I swallowed hard, looking into those dark, fierce eyes, and for the first time in my life, I truly believed in someone. “I trust you.”
The Maybach slowed to a crawl, rolling into the vast, cavernous expanse of Pier 42.
It was an abandoned shipping terminal, flanked by towering mountains of rusted steel shipping containers and the dark, churning waters of the frozen river. Beneath the yellow, flickering glare of halogen work lights mounted on the warehouse roof, two black Chevrolet Suburbans sat idling, exhaust billowing into the freezing air like thick white smoke.
Standing between the two vehicles was Nikolai Volkov.
He was a hulking, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, wearing a floor-length fur coat. Flanking him were six heavily armed mercenaries carrying Kalashnikovs.
And kneeling in the wet gravel beside Nikolai, shivering violently in her hospital gown with a gun pressed against her temple, was Emily.
“Emily!” The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.
“Stay down!” Luca commanded sharply.
Luca kicked open the driver’s side door and stepped out into the freezing downpour alone. He carried no rifle, only the sidearm holstered at his hip. His tall, broad frame cast a long, menacing shadow across the wet concrete as he walked toward the Russian mobster with calm, measured steps.
“Right on time, Moretti!” Nikolai shouted over the wind, a cruel sneer twisting his scarred features. “Where is the lovely Vanessa? Did you bring my favorite little turncoat?”
Luca stopped fifteen yards away, completely indifferent to the six automatic rifles pointed directly at his chest.
“Vanessa is in the rear vehicle,” Luca said calmly. “Let the girl go, Nikolai. Your business is with me. She knows nothing about our world.”
“Ah, but she is the lever that moves the great Luca Moretti,” Nikolai laughed, burying his thick fingers into Emily’s brown hair and yanking her head back. Emily let out a piercing, terrified cry that made my blood run cold. “Who would have thought? The butcher of Chicago brought to his knees by a little South Side maid. The Commission will laugh for decades when they hear how you fell.”
“There will be no one left alive to laugh,” Luca replied softly.
“Bring Vanessa out! Now!” Nikolai barked, his finger tightening on the trigger of the pistol aimed at Emily’s head. “Or I paint the pavement with your maid’s sister right now!”
“Marco,” Luca called out calmly. “Bring her.”
The rear door of the trailing SUV opened. Two guards dragged Vanessa forward into the floodlights. She was sobbing hysterically behind the duct tape, her eyes wild with panic as she looked at Nikolai, begging him with her eyes to save her.
“Good,” Nikolai grinned. “Now, kick your gun over, Moretti. Then we make the trade.”
Luca looked down at his holster. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his weapon.
Inside the Maybach, my breath hitched. *No... if he disarms himself, they’ll kill him!*
Luca unclipped the holster, took out his gun, and tossed it into the gravel between them. It clattered against the wet stones, landing harmlessly in a puddle.
Nikolai threw his head back and laughed—a booming, triumphant sound that echoed off the shipping containers. “The mighty Luca Moretti, disarmed for a gutter rat! You have become weak, my friend!”
“Have I?” Luca murmured.
He raised his left hand and clicked a small, black detonator concealed in his palm.
*BOOM!*
A deafening explosion ripped through the shipping container directly behind Nikolai’s Suburbans.
A wall of fire and blinding white phosphorus erupted into the night sky, sending a shockwave that shattered the windows of both Russian vehicles and threw two of the gunmen off their feet.
Before the debris could even hit the ground, gunfire erupted from the shadows above.
Luca’s snipers, positioned high on the industrial cranes an hour before we even arrived, opened fire with pinpoint, lethal accuracy. Two of the remaining mercenaries dropped instantly, crimson blooming across their tactical vests.
“Kill them!” Nikolai shrieked, ducking behind Emily’s trembling body.
Luca didn’t dive for cover. He lunged forward like a rabid wolf.
Diving across the wet gravel, Luca scooped up his discarded sidearm, rolled onto his back, and fired three rapid shots beneath the chassis of the lead Suburban. The bullets found their mark, shredding the ankles of the fifth gunman, who collapsed screaming into the dirt where Marco’s advancing squad finished him.
I couldn't stay in the car.
Seeing Emily on the ground, surrounded by smoke, gunfire, and shattering glass, every maternal instinct I had ever possessed took over. I kicked the door of the Maybach open and sprinted out into the crossfire.
“Emily!” I screamed, sliding across the wet mud on my knees, reaching my sister.
“Sophie!” Emily sobbed, throwing her frail arms around my neck. Her skin was ice-cold, smelling of hospital antiseptic and gun smoke.
“Get down!” I shielded her with my own body, wrapping my arms around her head as bullets chipped away at the concrete barrier beside us.
Through the clearing smoke, I saw Nikolai.
He was bleeding from a shrapnel wound to his temple, scrambling toward the edge of the pier where a speedboat was idling in the dark river below. Behind him, Vanessa was on her feet, having somehow slipped her bonds in the chaos, running toward Nikolai’s escape boat.
“Nikolai! Take me with you!” Vanessa shrieked, clutching his fur coat. “Don't leave me here!”
Nikolai looked down at her with pure disgust. “You are useless to me now, you stupid bitch.”
Without a second thought, Nikolai shoved Vanessa violently backward. She slipped on the ice-covered edge of the dock, letting out a bloodcurdling scream as she tumbled over the sheer drop, hitting the black, freezing waters of Lake Michigan with a violent splash.
Nikolai turned to leap into the boat—
*CRACK.*
A bullet tore through Nikolai’s right kneecap.
He collapsed onto the edge of the wooden dock with a roar of agony, clawing at the splintered planks as his weapon skittered into the dark water below.
Luca walked through the drifting smoke, his long coat swishing around his boots, his gun held steadily at his side. He didn't rush. He moved with the terrifying, inevitable grace of death itself.
He stopped directly over the writhing Russian boss, planting his heavy combat boot squarely on Nikolai’s chest, pinning him to the edge of the abyss.
“Moretti…” Nikolai gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth as he looked up into the barrel of Luca’s gun. “You… you can't kill me… the Russian Council… they will start a war that burns this country to ash…”
Luca looked down at him with eyes as cold and empty as the arctic sea.
“The Russian Council doesn't know you’re here, Nikolai,” Luca whispered softly. “Because by dawn, you will simply be another ghost beneath the ice.”
May you like
Luca pulled the trigger.
***
