Chapter 9 - THE CHICAGO WAY
The warehouse at the shipping yards was a fortress of rusted steel and shadows. Liam walked in the front doors, his hands empty, his eyes scanning the impossible geometry of the catwalks.
Sylvio Russo stood in the center, Vincent beaten and bound in a chair beside him. A dozen gunmen aimed automatic rifles at Liam from the upper levels.
Liam couldn't hear Russo's mocking laughter, but he saw the ugly shape of it on his mouth. Russo stepped forward, drawing his weapon, savoring the victory over the deaf freak of the Moretti family.
"Drop your chin," a sudden, sharp voice echoed in Liam's mind.
Ava.
She had followed him. She was somewhere in the rafters.
Liam dropped his chin instantly just as the glass of the skylight shattered above. A sniper round—fired by Marco, guided by Ava—tore through the shoulder of the gunman on the left catwalk.
Chaos erupted.
"Three o'clock, behind the pillar!" Ava screamed in his mind.
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Liam drew his twin pistols, firing blindly into the exact spot she dictated, watching a body tumble from the shadows. He became a machine fueled by her sight. She called out targets, angles, reloads. He moved through the crossfire like a ghost, untouched by the bullets tearing the concrete to dust, protected by a guardian angel who spoke directly to his soul.
He reached Russo just as the New York boss tried to put a bullet in Vincent's head. Liam shattered Russo's knee with a kick, disarmed him, and drove his gun into the man's temple, pulling the trigger without a second thought.
