Chapter 5 - THE BURNING IRON
The railyard was a desolate stretch of rusted metal and broken concrete on the edge of the city. Gray winter clouds hung low, threatening snow.
Matteo parked the SUV two blocks away, cutting the headlights. He checked the magazine of his sidearm, grabbed a backup piece from the glovebox, and slid into the freezing wind.
He moved like a ghost through the labyrinth of abandoned freight cars.
Six men with rifles.
He could smell it before he saw it. The sharp, toxic fumes of gasoline.
Up ahead, near a line of decaying boxcars, three men in dark tactical gear were splashing fuel onto the heavy iron doors of a red freight car. Two others stood on the catwalks above, holding long rifles, scanning the perimeter. The sixth man was lighting a flare.
Matteo didn't hesitate.
He raised his weapon and fired twice. The man holding the flare dropped instantly, the red stick rolling harmlessly onto the wet concrete, inches from the puddle of gasoline.
The remaining men shouted, raising their weapons.
Gunfire erupted, the sound deafening as bullets ricocheted off the iron boxcars. Matteo dove behind a rusted wheel axle, returning fire. He dropped one of the men on the catwalk, the body crashing down onto the gravel.
But he was pinned down. Bullets chewed into the dirt around his boots.
Inside the red boxcar, Elena heard the gunfire. She was tied to a metal stanchion, her wrists raw from struggling against the zip-ties. The smell of gasoline was suffocating.
“Matteo,” she whispered, praying to a God she hoped was listening.
Outside, Matteo realized he couldn't wait them out. If a stray bullet hit the gasoline, the car would go up in a fireball.
He needed a distraction.
He pulled a heavy, silver lighter from his pocket—a gift his mother had given him on his 21st birthday. How fitting.
He sparked the lighter, threw it over the axle toward a stack of old wooden pallets drenched in oil, and rolled in the opposite direction.
The pallets ignited with a loud whoosh, sending a wall of orange flame into the air.
The shooters instinctively turned toward the explosion.
Matteo broke from cover, sprinting directly into the open. He fired on the run, dropping the second sniper, then double-tapped the remaining two men on the ground before they could pivot back to him.
Silence fell over the railyard, save for the crackle of the burning pallets.
Matteo reloaded, keeping his weapon raised as he approached the red boxcar. He unlatched the heavy iron bar and pulled the door open.
Elena was slumped against the wall, shivering, her face streaked with soot and tears.
“Elena,” Matteo breathed, dropping his gun and sliding to his knees beside her.
He pulled a folding knife from his belt and sliced through the zip-ties. The moment her hands were free, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest.
Matteo held her tightly, closing his eyes as he pressed a kiss to her tangled hair.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re safe.”
She pulled back, looking at his face, her hands trembling as they touched his jaw. “You came alone. You idiot, you could have died.”
“I’m not losing you because my family is poisoned,” Matteo said, helping her to her feet.
They rushed out of the boxcar, putting distance between themselves and the gasoline. As they reached the edge of the railyard, Matteo stopped and looked at her.
“Why didn't you tell me about the ledger?” he asked gently. “Why did you try to run away with it?”
Elena wrapped her arms around herself against the cold. “Because I found out last night at dinner. When your mother put that ring on Francesca, I realized she wasn't just being cruel. She was testing your loyalty to her over me. If you had stood up to her right then, I would have told you everything.”
Matteo winced, the guilt hitting him like a physical blow. “I thought I was keeping the peace.”
“There is no peace in this family, Matteo. Only leverage.” Elena looked down. “When I went to my room, Francesca brought me the foreclosure notice for my studio. But then your mother came in.”
Elena looked up, her eyes hauntingly sad. “Lucia told me she knew I was restoring the canvas. She said if I told you about her involvement in your father’s death, she would kill you. She said you would be too blinded by grief to protect yourself from Antonio.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened. His own mother had used his life as a bargaining chip to silence the woman he loved.
“So you ran,” Matteo realized.
“I packed the canvas in my bag. I was going to mail it to the FBI and disappear, so you wouldn't be caught in the crossfire.” She swallowed hard. “But her men caught me outside the tunnel.”
Matteo reached out and gently cupped her face. “You don't have to protect me, Elena. Not anymore.”
He led her to the SUV. As he opened the passenger door, his phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Marco.
“Boss,” Marco’s voice was tight with panic. “Where are you?”
“Secure,” Matteo said. “What’s the situation at the estate?”
“It’s a bloodbath, Matteo. Antonio Moretti didn't wait for the reception. He just made a move. His men locked down the ballroom. He’s holding the trustees and the guests hostage. He’s demanding you surrender the estate to him, or he starts executing the board members.”
Matteo looked at Elena.
“And my mother?” Matteo asked.
“Lucia is standing right beside him,” Marco said.
Matteo hung up the phone. He looked at the leather tube containing the ledger sitting in the backseat.
May you like
“They want a war,” Matteo said quietly, his gray eyes turning to ice.
Elena reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “Then let’s give them one.”
