Chapter 7 - FORGING WEAPONS
“I’m going,” Alessandro said, pulling his bloody shirt back together and grabbing a fresh tactical vest from the bunker's armory. He was pale, sweating, and entirely unhinged.
“You are bleeding out,” I argued, stepping between him and the door. “Carmine will execute you the second you walk in.”
“He has Leah. He has Camila. I am not letting innocent women die for my family's sins.” He loaded a magazine into his rifle. “Stay here, Adriana. Lock the door. If I don't come back in three hours, call this number. It’s a pilot who will fly you to Sicily.”
He tried to step around me, but I grabbed the rifle barrel.
“You don't get to sideline me again, Alessandro,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Carmine knows how you fight. He knows you’ll come through the front door with guns blazing. But he doesn't know me. He thinks I’m a broken, discarded wife crying in a jewelry shop.”
“Adriana, absolutely not.”
“I know the steel mill,” I pressed on, ignoring his command. “My father used to buy scrap from there. There’s a ventilation shaft on the east side that drops directly into the main smelting floor. You walk in the front and distract Carmine. I go in from the top.”
“With what?” he scoffed, terrified for me. “A jeweler’s loupe?”
I walked over to the armory bench. I didn't reach for the guns; I had never been a good shot. Instead, I grabbed a bundle of heavy-duty zip ties, two flashbang grenades, and a tactical knife.
“With these. And the element of surprise.” I looked him dead in the eye. “We do this together, or you die alone. Your choice.”
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For a long moment, the boss of the Chicago syndicate stared down at his wife. Then, a slow, predatory smile broke through his grimace of pain.
“My beautiful, terrifying wife,” he murmured. “Let’s go kill my uncle.”
