Chapter 3 - Ashes and Embers
Deafening automatic gunfire immediately ripped through the confined basement, violently shredding the rotting wooden support beams directly above our heads.
I instinctively shoved Beatrice hard behind a massive, cast-iron boiler just as a storm of heavy caliber bullets began sparking aggressively against the thick metal.
Matteo flawlessly returned fire with deadly, calculated precision, his heavy revolver roaring in the enclosed space and instantly taking out two dark silhouettes in the alleyway.
A sickening realization washed over me as I understood that Lorenzo had played me perfectly by quietly suggesting I follow the suspicious maid completely alone.
My trusted right-hand man had been tracking the GPS signal on my encrypted phone, using me as a blind bloodhound to finally locate the ghost he had failed to kill twelve years ago.
I swiftly pulled a military-grade smoke grenade from the deep pocket of my cashmere coat, a paranoid habit from my violent past, and ripped the pin out with my teeth.
Thick, blinding white smoke instantly flooded the small, claustrophobic room, completely masking our movements and neutralizing the snipers aiming from the frozen street outside.
I grabbed Beatrice roughly by her freezing hand and yelled at the top of my lungs for Matteo to follow me toward the forgotten storm drain at the back of the room.
We desperately kicked out the heavily rusted iron grating and threw ourselves headfirst into the freezing, foul-smelling darkness of the city's ancient sewer tunnels.
The chaotic sounds of our heavily armed attackers barking furious orders echoed ominously from the street directly above our heads as we waded through the icy water.
We ran in total, suffocating darkness for what felt like agonizing hours until we finally breached a heavily barred maintenance door leading into an abandoned subway shaft.
Beatrice immediately collapsed against the damp, graffiti-covered wall, gasping painfully for air while desperately clutching a bleeding graze wound on her upper arm.
I aggressively pulled out my encrypted phone, intending to call my most loyal and brutal captains to orchestrate an immediate counter-attack against Lorenzo's faction.
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But just before my thumb could press the dial button, a chilling text message from Lorenzo suddenly lit up my cracked screen.
The message contained a crystal-clear photo of Beatrice's six-year-old daughter sleeping peacefully in her bed, completely unaware of the masked, armed mercenary standing menacingly in her doorway.
