Chapter 6 - The Lion’s Den
The waterfront warehouse smelled of rust, saltwater, and gasoline.
Vincent Valente stood in the center of the massive, empty floor, checking his gold Rolex. He was a slimmer, sharper version of his brother, with cruel eyes and a tailored suit that cost more than Cassidy’s life. Five heavily armed men stood in a circle around him.
The heavy metal doors groaned open.
Vincent smiled, expecting to see his broken brother.
Instead, Cassidy walked in.
She was alone. She wore her cheap winter coat over her bloodstained waitress uniform. Her hands were empty, raised in the air, but her chin was held high.
Vincent frowned, his men raising their weapons. “Well, this is unexpected. Where is he?”
“He’s dead,” Cassidy lied, her voice remarkably steady. Her heart was beating so fast she thought her ribs might crack, but she channeled every ounce of fury she had toward Gavin into this moment.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“He bled out in my apartment,” Cassidy said coldly. She reached into her pocket and tossed the heavy silver lighter with the wolf crest onto the concrete floor. It clattered to a stop at Vincent’s feet. “He gave me this before he died. He told me the codes. I memorized them, and I burned the paper.”
Vincent stared at the lighter, his face twitching. “You’re lying.”
“Call the clinic,” Cassidy challenged, stepping closer. “Tell your men to let my mother go. Once I hear her voice, and she tells me she’s safe in a cab, I will write the codes down for you. If you shoot me, the money burns with me.”
Vincent studied her. He walked forward, picking up the lighter. He flipped it open, seeing the dried blood on the silver. He smiled, a terrifying, reptilian grin.
“You’re a brave girl,” Vincent murmured, circling her like a shark. “But you don't know who you’re dealing with. I don’t negotiate with waitresses.”
He snapped his fingers. “Call the clinic. Tell them to kill the mother.”
Cassidy lunged at him, but two of his men grabbed her arms, pinning her back. She thrashed, screaming, “No! Wait! I have the numbers!”
“Too late,” Vincent sneered. He leaned in close to her face. “You want to know a secret, sweetheart? My brother was a fool. He spent two years hunting the rival family who killed his wife. But they didn't do it.”
Cassidy stopped struggling, horror washing over her.
“I put the bomb in the car,” Vincent whispered, his eyes gleaming with malicious pride. “I just didn't expect the kid to survive. A shame she lost her voice. But tonight, I’m cleaning up all the loose ends.”
He pulled a gun from his holster and pressed it to Cassidy’s forehead. “I’ll find the money myself. Goodbye, Miss Tate.”
A heavy, metallic thud echoed through the warehouse.
Vincent froze.
The sound came from the rafters. Suddenly, the massive bay doors at the back of the warehouse blew open with explosive force. Two black SUVs tore into the building, tires screaming on the concrete, pinning three of Vincent’s men against the wall.
From the shadows of the catwalk above, laser sights painted Vincent’s chest in a dozen red dots.
And stepping out of the lead SUV, wearing a tactical vest over his bloody shirt and holding a customized assault rifle, was Dominic Valente.
He wasn't limping. He wasn't dying.
Cassidy smirked, looking Vincent dead in the eyes. “You really shouldn't negotiate with waitresses.”
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Vincent dropped his gun, raising his hands as Dominic’s men flooded the warehouse.
Dominic walked slowly toward his brother. “You thought I’d let a civilian walk in here without backup?” Dominic asked, his voice shaking the concrete. “She didn't betray me, Vincent. She was the bait. And you took it.”
