Chapter 6 - The Trap
The rain was pouring in sheets as I slipped through the chaos of the estate, avoiding the flashes of gunfire at the front gates. I clutched the small, waterproof bag containing the ledger I had hidden since the night at the Obsidian Hotel. I made it to the rear service gate, punching in the code I had memorized from watching the staff.
A black van was waiting in the alley. Two large men grabbed me, violently shoving me into the back.
“Where’s Liam?” I screamed, fighting against their grip as they zip-tied my wrists.
“Shut up,” one of the thugs grunted, pulling a black hood over my head.
The drive felt like an eternity. The smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke filled my lungs. When the van finally stopped and the hood was ripped off, I was shivering in a dimly lit, abandoned warehouse near the docks.
My Uncle Marcus stood there, looking older and more desperate than I remembered. His tailored suit was wrinkled, his eyes manic. And kneeling on the concrete floor, his face bruised and bleeding, was Liam.
“Emma!” Liam yelled, coughing up blood. “Why did you come? I told them to go to hell!”
“Let him go, Marcus!” I demanded, my voice echoing in the empty warehouse. “I have what you want.”
I kicked the waterproof bag across the floor. Marcus’s eyes lit up with greedy relief. He bent down, tearing the bag open to reveal the leather-bound ledger that contained the proof of his embezzlement, his bribery, and the order to murder my parents.
“Ah, Elizabeth. You always were a smart girl,” Marcus smiled, clutching the book. “Unfortunately, you’re also a loose end. And now that you’re carrying Vitali’s bastard... you’re too dangerous to leave alive.”
He raised a gun, pointing it directly at my chest.
I instinctively turned away, curling my body to protect my stomach. I braced for the gunshot.
But the gunshot didn't come from Marcus.
A deafening CRACK echoed from the catwalk above. The gun in Marcus’s hand shattered, taking two of his fingers with it. He screamed in agony, falling to his knees.
The warehouse doors blew open with explosive force. Tactical floodlights blinded the room.
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“Nobody moves!” a voice roared through a megaphone.
I looked up. Standing on the catwalk, lowering a sniper rifle, was Alessandro. The wrath radiating from him was so potent it felt like the air in the warehouse had caught fire.
