Chapter 8 - Shadows in the Dark
Inside the pitch-black slaughterhouse, the only illumination came from the intermittent flashes of muzzle fire.
Through the drone’s night-vision camera, I watched green-tinted silhouettes stalk through the maze of metal hooks. Carlo was firing wildly into the shadows, his nerve fraying as the silence dragged on.
“Where are you, Roman?!” Carlo screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. “Show yourself!”
From the darkness above the meat hooks, Roman dropped like a panther. He landed directly on the gunman flanking Carlo, disarming him in a blur of motion and driving him to the floor. Carlo spun around, raising his shotgun, but Roman caught the barrel with his left hand, forcing it upward as it blasted harmlessly into the ceiling.
With a brutal right hook, Roman fractured Carlo’s jaw. The underboss collapsed against the drain basin, spitting blood and teeth, clutching his broken face.
“Twelve years, Carlo,” Roman said, his voice ringing through the cavernous hall like a funeral bell. “I gave you my trust. I gave you a seat at my table.”
“You... you gave me nothing!” Carlo wheezed from the floor. “You gave everything to that girl! Her brother should have died on Fourth Street!”
A shadow detached from behind the industrial smoker.
Julian Vance stepped into the pale moonlight filtering through the shattered skylights, a heavy-caliber revolver pointed straight at Roman’s back.
“Drop the gun, Caldwell,” Julian snarled, his bandaged shoulder seeping dark blood. “Turn around slowly.”
Roman didn't flinch. He slowly raised his hands, turning to face the man who had crippled Leo.
“Julian,” Roman said evenly. “Moretti won't protect you after this. You know how this ends.”
“It ends with you in a body bag, and me taking a private jet to Costa Rica on Carlo’s dime,” Julian smirked, cocking the hammer. “Say goodbye to the boss, Carlo.”
In the surveillance van, my hands moved without conscious thought.
The building’s secondary fire-suppression system was still wired to the municipal emergency grid. I overrode the safety protocols, routing maximum water pressure to the overhead industrial sprinkler pipes directly above the smoker unit, followed instantly by the automated high-voltage line reset.
A blast of freezing water cascaded over Julian Vance.
In that split second of shock and blinding spray, Julian flinched, his aim wavering.
It was the only opening Roman needed.
Roman lunged forward, grabbing Julian’s wrist and twisting it with sickening force. The revolver dropped to the floor. Roman drove his knee into Julian’s injured shoulder, sending the enforcer crashing into the concrete floor.
Julian roared in pain, pulling a combat knife from his boot with his good hand, slashing upward. The blade caught Roman across the forearm, slicing through the tactical vest’s strap. Roman parried the second thrust, trapping Julian’s arm against the iron pillar, his dark eyes burning with absolute, unforgiving vengeance.
“This,” Roman growled, his voice vibrating with lethal power, “is for Leo.”
With a swift, merciless motion, Roman snapped Julian’s elbow backward over the steel edge of the pillar. A horrific scream tore from Julian’s throat as the knife clattered away, his arm hanging limp and destroyed.
Roman stepped back, retrieving his fallen pistol, and aimed it directly between Julian’s eyes.
“Wait!” Julian shrieked, pressing his back against the pillar, terror completely stripping away his arrogance. “Wait! Don't shoot! I didn't plan Fourth Street! I was hired!”
“I know who hired you,” Roman said coldly. “Moretti.”
“No!” Julian gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. “Not Moretti! It wasn't Moretti three years ago!”
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Roman paused, his finger hovering over the trigger. “What did you say?”
“Moretti only hired me last week through Carlo!” Julian shouted frantically. “Three years ago, the hit on Atlantic Avenue... it wasn't for you, Caldwell! The hit was on the boy! Leo was the target!”
