The suppressed pistol at her hip felt heavy, foreign, and deadly, but the thought of Leo crying in the dark replaced all fear with ice-cold resolve.
Vincent moved with terrifying speed and silence.
He slipped through the rusted chain-link fence where Dominic had breached the perimeter, his movements calculated and predatory.
Emma followed two paces behind, keeping low beneath the shadow of abandoned railcars.
Thwip.
Thwip.
Two muffled pops sounded high above them.
Seconds later, a mercenary tumbled from the metal catwalk of the first cooling tower, landing silently in an overgrown patch of weeds.
Team Two had neutralized the outer perimeter.
Vincent reached the rusted iron hatch leading to the subterranean runoff tunnel.
He pulled a compact hydraulic pry bar from his vest, jamming it into the rusted seam and applying smooth, relentless force until the bolt sheared off with a dull crunch.
He eased the hatch open, gesturing for Emma to follow him down into the subterranean corridor.
The air below was thick with the stench of sulfur, damp concrete, and motor oil.
From deeper inside the sprawling complex, the muffled sound of a child crying drifted down the tunnel, followed by a harsh slap and a man’s angry bark: “Quiet, brat!
Before I make sure you never speak again!”
Chapter 37 – The Iron Tomb
They moved through the rusted drainage tunnels like phantoms, Vincent leading the way with terrifying precision.
Every turn was cleared with textbook tactical discipline.
Two mercenary sentries positioned at a subterranean junction were neutralized before they even had time to raise their weapons—Vincent dropping them with silent, ruthless headshots, their bodies caught and lowered quietly to the damp concrete.
Emma watched Vincent in awe and terror.
This was not the man who sat in glass boardrooms signing billion-dollar merger agreements; this was the apex predator of the Moretti bloodline, a man forged in the darkest shadows of his family’s violent history.
They reached a heavy blast door that led into the lower level of the central furnace hall.
Through the thick glass inspection slit, Emma saw the horror inside.
The massive, rusted warehouse was illuminated by portable halogen work lights.
In the center of the hall, Leo was tied to a heavy steel chair, his face bruised and tears streaking through the dirt on his cheeks.
Standing around him were six heavily armed mercenaries, checking their weapons and packing tactical cases into an open shipping container mounted on a flatbed railcar.
Above them on an elevated industrial catwalk stood Helena Moretti, wrapped in a black cashmere coat, holding a biometric reading tablet.
“The sample is extracted,” a man in a white lab coat said, handing a small vial of Leo’s blood to Helena.
“Genetic markers confirm a ninety-nine percent lineage match to the auditor’s bloodline.
The De Rossi accounts in Zurich are unlocking now.
Forty billion euros are transferring into the maritime trusts.”
Helena smiled, a hideous, triumphant sneer that warped her aristocratic features.
“Excellent.
Kill the brat.
Put his body in the slag pit.
We leave by the canal in ten minutes.”
One of the mercenaries cocked his sidearm, taking a step toward Leo.
Emma gasped, her breath catching in her throat, but before she could make a sound, Vincent kicked the blast door off its rusted hinges with explosive force.
BANG!
“Helena!”
Vincent’s roar echoed through the steel rafters like thunder.
Vincent opened fire, his rifle spitting fire and lead.
The mercenary aiming at Leo dropped instantly, a round through his chest.
The entire foundry erupted into chaos.
Gunfire shredded the air, deafening and brutal, muzzle flashes illuminating the rusted steel beams in blinding strobes of light.
Chapter 38 – Shield of Honor
Bullets sparked against the concrete floor at Emma’s feet, kicking up sharp stone chips that stung her shins.
A mercenary stepped out from behind a rusted forklift, raising a submachine gun directly at her chest.
Emma remembered the drills Dominic had rushed her through in the transport.
She didn’t freeze; she drew her suppressed pistol with both hands, planting her feet, and pulled the trigger three times.
The shots cracked cleanly.
The mercenary gasped, staggering backward before collapsing against the forklift wheel, his weapon clattering harmlessly to the ground.
Emma’s hands shook with adrenaline, but she didn’t stop.
She reached the steel chair, throwing her arms around the trembling boy.
“Leo!
I’m here!
I’m here, baby, look at me!”
Emma sobbed, pulling the tape from his mouth and drawing a combat knife from her vest to sever the zip-ties binding his wrists and ankles.
“Aunt Emma!”
Leo wailed, burying his face into her tactical vest, clinging to her with desperate strength.
“The bad lady… she said you were dead!”
“I’m alive, Leo!
We’re going home!”
