Chapter 8 - THE TRAP IS SET
The steel mill was a rusting behemoth against the freezing Chicago night. The wind howled through broken glass as I scaled the rusted iron ladder on the east wall. Below me, I could hear the rumble of heavy engines—Carmine’s men had the place locked down.
I squeezed through the rusted ventilation grate, the metal tearing at my jacket. The drop was fifteen feet onto a narrow steel catwalk suspended over the main floor.
I moved like a shadow. Below, the scene was illuminated by harsh halogen work lights.
Carmine sat in a folding chair, smoking a cigar. A dozen armed men flanked him. In the center of the room, Leah and Camila were tied back-to-back, bruised but alive.
Then, the heavy front doors shrieked open.
Alessandro walked in. He was entirely alone, hands empty, the micro-SD card held between his thumb and forefinger.
“Nephew,” Carmine boomed, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “You look terrible.”
“And you look like a dead man, Carmine,” Alessandro said smoothly, his eyes locked on his uncle. He didn't glance up at the catwalk, but I knew he was tracking my movements via the shadows.
“Give me the drive,” Carmine demanded. “And I’ll let the women go.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” Alessandro said, stepping deeper into the kill zone, drawing the guards' attention entirely onto himself.
I crawled directly above the guards holding Leah and Camila. I pulled the pins on both flashbang grenades.
“I’m disappointed in you, Alessandro,” Carmine sighed, raising a hand. “Kill him.”
I dropped the grenades.
BANG.
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The deafening concussion rocked the mill. A blinding white light erupted in the center of the room. Carmine’s men screamed, dropping their weapons to claw at their eyes.
I didn't hesitate. I dropped from the catwalk, landing on a pile of canvas tarps.
