Chapter 5 - BLOOD IN THE FLOUR
Twenty miles away, the rain was coming down in sheets over the dark, cobblestone streets of the North End. The Gilded Crumb sat completely dark, its 'Closed' sign swinging gently in the wind. But inside the basement, the air was thick with tension and the smell of copper.
Leo Keough sat strapped to a metal chair, his left eye swollen completely shut, his breathing ragged. The scarred enforcer, a brutal man named Dante, sat on a stool across from him, lazily cleaning the grime from under his fingernails with a combat knife. Dante’s cell phone buzzed on the wooden prep table.
He picked it up, glancing at the screen. The text was encrypted, but the message was clear: The crown is mine. Burn the bakery. Kill the boy.
Dante smirked, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He stood up, towering over Leo. “Well, kid. Looks like your sister actually pulled it off. Have to admit, I didn't think the little baker had the stomach for it.”
Leo strained against the zip ties cutting into his wrists, fresh tears tracking through the blood on his face. “You promised you’d let us go!”
“I lie,” Dante said simply, raising his pistol and racking the slide. He leveled the weapon directly at Leo’s forehead. “Nothing personal. Just business.”
Before Dante could pull the trigger, the heavy reinforced steel door leading to the alleyway exploded.
The blast wave threw Dante backward, sending him crashing into a rack of cooling trays. The lights in the basement shattered, plunging the room into darkness, save for the strobing beams of tactical flashlights attached to the barrels of suppressed assault rifles.
“Federales?!” Dante yelled, scrambling for his gun in the dark.
“Worse,” a cold, female voice echoed from the smoke.
Silas’s Alpha team poured into the room like liquid shadows. There were six of them, clad in black tactical gear, moving with terrifying precision. They were Dominic Russo’s ghosts, the men and women who handled the violence the boss wanted kept off the front pages.
Dante fired wildly into the smoke, the muzzle flashes illuminating the flour particles floating in the air. One of Victor’s guards, who had been sleeping in the corner, jumped up and fired a shotgun. A tactical operative dropped him with a double-tap to the chest before the shotgun shell even hit the ground.
Leo screamed, squeezing his eyes shut as bullets tore through the commercial mixers and shattered bags of flour, creating a thick, white fog in the basement.
Through the chaos, a figure moved with lethal grace. Rosa, Dominic’s top assassin and Silas’s right hand, slid across the floor, dodging a spray of bullets from Dante. She came up fast, driving her combat knife through the top of Dante’s boot, pinning his foot to the wooden floorboards.
Dante roared in agony, dropping his gun to grab his foot. Rosa didn’t hesitate. She stood up, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his face into the heavy steel edge of a dough sheeter. Dante went limp, sliding to the floor in a heap.
The gunfire ceased as quickly as it had begun. The basement was quiet, save for the hiss of a broken water pipe and Leo’s frantic, hyperventilating breaths.
Rosa clicked on a high-powered flashlight, cutting through the flour-dust smoke. She walked over to Leo, pulling a tactical knife from her vest. Leo flinched, bracing for the end.
Instead, Rosa swiftly cut the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles.
“Leo Keough?” she asked, her tone entirely businesslike.
Leo nodded weakly, rubbing his raw wrists. “Who... who are you?”
“We work for Dominic Russo,” Rosa said, pulling him to his feet and tossing him a clean towel to wipe the blood from his eyes. “Your sister is a very brave woman, kid. She struck a deal with the boss to save your miserable life.”
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Leo stared at her, stunned. “Clara? Where is she?”
Rosa tapped her earpiece, listening to a stream of encrypted chatter. “She’s at the estate. The trap has been sprung. Let’s move, kid. The boss said burn the place down, but he meant Victor’s men, not the bakery. We’re getting you out of here.”
