Chapter 5 - The War for Queens
The hospital bed restraints might as well have been threads of cotton. Adrenaline surged through Sarah’s veins with such terrifying force that she ripped the IV needle straight out of her arm, ignoring the blood that spurted onto the white sheets.
“Sarah, stop! You’ll tear your stitches!” Enzo commanded, grabbing her by the shoulders to keep her from falling out of bed.
“My brother! They have Toby!” Sarah sobbed hysterically, her fingers digging into Enzo’s forearms with desperate, claw-like strength. “Please, Mr. Caruso! If anything happens to him, I have nothing left! Please!”
Enzo’s dark eyes flashed with an instantaneous, lethal storm. He looked up at Victor. “Where is the boy right now?”
“Thorne’s hit squad intercepted the school bus three blocks from his junior high,” Victor reported rapidly, tapping the screen. “They’re holding him in an abandoned automotive warehouse off Flushing Avenue in Queens.”
Enzo stood up, his towering frame radiating an aura of pure, unbridled fury. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out his custom leather-holstered firearm, and checked the magazine with a sharp, metallic click.
“Get the tactical convoy ready,” Enzo ordered coldly. “Every man we have in the tri-state area. We’re going to Queens.”
Sarah struggled to stand, her bare feet hitting the cold marble floor. Her knees buckled instantly beneath a wave of agonizing pain from her bullet wounds, and she collapsed forward.
Enzo caught her effortlessly, sweeping her up into his arms before she hit the floor.
“Put me down! I’m going with you!” Sarah cried, pounding weakly against his chest. “He’s my brother!”
“You are in no condition to walk, let alone fight a syndicate hit squad,” Enzo said, his voice firm, unyielding, yet surprisingly gentle as he carried her back toward the bed.
“Then carry me!” Sarah pleaded, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “I won't stay here while they hurt him! Please, Enzo—please!”
It was the first time she had used his first name without his title.
Enzo paused. He looked down at the brave, broken young woman who had taken three bullets for his son. A fierce, protective devotion ignited within him—a feeling he hadn't experienced since the day his wife passed away.
“Alright,” Enzo said softly. “You ride with me. But you stay behind my vest. Do you understand?”
Sarah nodded frantically.
Within ten minutes, a convoy of four matte-black armored SUVs roared out of the Halston Hotel’s subterranean garage, cutting through the New York traffic with sirens wailing and tactical enforcers locked and loaded.
Twenty minutes later, the convoy screeched to a halt outside a derelict, graffiti-covered automotive warehouse in the industrial district of Queens.
The building was surrounded by rusted chain-link fences and overgrown weeds. Two of Thorne’s guards stood outside the metal sliding doors, smoking cigarettes.
They didn't even have time to draw their weapons.
Enzo’s tactical team moved like phantoms from the shadows. Two suppressed shots rang out in rapid succession, and the guards slumped silently onto the gravel.
Enzo stepped out of the lead SUV, carrying Sarah carefully in his arms. He handed her off to Victor, who stood behind the reinforced door of the armored vehicle.
“Stay here, Sarah,” Enzo commanded, pulling his weapon. “I’ll bring your brother out.”
Before she could argue, Enzo kicked the heavy metal door of the warehouse inward with a thunderous crash!
BANG! BANG!
Gunfire erupted inside the dim, oil-stained cavern of the warehouse.
Enzo advanced like a vengeful god, his enforcers swarming the catwalks and ground level, overwhelming Marcus Thorne’s men before they could coordinate a defense.
In the center of the warehouse, tied to a wooden chair with thick nylon cords, sat twelve-year-old Toby Miller. A piece of duct tape was slapped across his mouth, and his eyes were wide with terror. Standing behind him with a sharp combat knife pressed against the boy’s throat was a scarred mercenary wearing a silver serpent tie bar.
“Drop your weapons, Caruso!” the mercenary screamed, pressing the blade closer to Toby’s skin. “One step closer, and the kid gets his throat opened!”
Enzo stopped ten feet away. His pistol was lowered, but his eyes were locked onto the mercenary with a look of pure, lethal death.
“You’re holding the wrong boy,” Enzo said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. “If you wanted a war, you should have come to my estate. Dragging a twelve-year-old child into this makes you a coward.”
“Thorne sends his regards!” the mercenary snarled, lifting the knife—
CRACK!
A single, perfectly placed gunshot echoed from the catwalk above.
Victor Rossi’s sniper rifle round caught the mercenary square in the shoulder, spinning him away from Toby and sending his knife clattering onto the concrete floor.
Enzo didn't hesitate. He closed the distance in three long strides, grabbing the mercenary by the collar and throwing him headfirst into a stack of spare tires.
“Toby!” Sarah cried out, having ignored Enzo’s orders and limped into the warehouse doorway, running across the concrete despite the agonizing pain in her back.
Toby ripped the duct tape off his face as Enzo slashed the nylon cords with a pocket knife.
“Sarah!” Toby sobbed, leaping out of the chair and throwing his arms around his sister’s neck, burying his face in her shoulder.
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Sarah held him tightly, kissing his hair, crying tears of overwhelming relief as Enzo stood guard over them, his weapon still raised, scanning the shadows.
“It’s over, Toby,” Sarah whispered, holding her brother close. “We’re safe.”
