Chapter 7 - THE WAREHOUSE NEGOTIATION
Chaos consumed the floor below. The Moretti men spun in circles, blinded by the strobes and deafened by the alarm. Domenic drew his weapon, looking frantically toward the exits, assuming a police raid.
Matteo didn't waste the advantage. “Move!” he roared.
He vaulted over the catwalk railing, landing smoothly on a shipping crate below, and opened fire. Two Moretti guards dropped instantly. Leo followed, a heavy submachine gun tearing through the ranks.
Sophie scrambled down the stairs, ducking behind a thick concrete pillar. Bullets sparked against the metal walls, chewing the concrete inches from her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, counting the shots.
Six... seven... eight. He’s out. Reloading.
She peaked around the pillar. Domenic had grabbed Chloe, hauling her up as a human shield, his gun pressed to her temple. Matteo stood twenty feet away, his weapon leveled at his cousin’s chest, breathing heavily. The remaining Moretti men were dead or fleeing.
“Drop it, Matteo!” Domenic screamed over the dying whine of the fire alarm. “I’ll blow her brains out!”
“You sold us out, Dom,” Matteo’s voice was lethal, echoing in the cavernous space. “For what? A slightly bigger piece of a smaller pie?”
“For respect!” Domenic spat. “You run this family like a corporation! It’s a business of blood, Matt! Now drop the gun, or the girl dies.”
Matteo hesitated. He had promised Sophie her sister would live.
Sophie stepped out from behind the pillar. “Domenic, you have a zero percent chance of surviving this.”
Domenic laughed wildly. “Look who decided to join the party. The civilian.”
“If you shoot her,” Sophie said, walking slowly toward them, ignoring Matteo’s frantic gesture to stay back, “Matteo will shoot you. That is immediate death. If you surrender, Matteo will kill you. That is also immediate death. However, I have already forwarded the encrypted logs of your transactions to the Chicago Field Office of the FBI. If you kill her, you add a federal homicide charge to an airtight RICO case.”
May you like
Domenic’s eyes darted nervously. “You’re bluffing.”
“I’m an actuary,” Sophie lied smoothly. “I don’t bluff. I calculate. Let her go, and I will delete the email from the outgoing server.”
