Chapter 7 - The Inferno
Alessandro did not hesitate for a fraction of a second.
He threw himself violently backward, diving behind a massive steel shipping container just as the timer hit zero.
The explosion was utterly deafening, a massive shockwave of heat and concussive force that ripped through the warehouse.
The concrete floor shattered, sending jagged debris flying like shrapnel into the night sky.
Alessandro hit the ground hard, his ears ringing loudly as thick, black smoke filled his lungs.
He pushed himself up, coughing violently, and checked his body for fatal wounds.
His Kevlar vest had absorbed the worst of the impact, but his left arm was bleeding sluggishly from a deep cut.
"Boss, are you alive?" Dante's frantic voice crackled over their secure earpiece.
"I am alive, but she is not here," Alessandro replied, wiping the blood from his eyes.
"I tracked the origin signal of the walkie-talkie," Dante reported quickly from his sniper position.
"The transmission did not come from the warehouse, it bounced from a high-rise building in Midtown."
Alessandro's mind raced, connecting the terrifying dots of his uncle's master plan.
"The gallery," Alessandro realized aloud, his blood running entirely cold.
"He took Sophie to the exact gallery where Camille was supposed to have her art exhibition."
It was the ultimate psychological torture, destroying their family in the place where their new life was supposed to begin.
Alessandro sprinted out of the burning warehouse, jumping into Dante's waiting van.
They drove through the empty streets of Manhattan like absolute madmen, running every red light.
They arrived at the prestigious art gallery, a massive glass and steel structure currently closed to the public.
Alessandro kicked the heavy glass doors open, his pistol raised and ready for a slaughter.
The lobby was completely silent, the walls lined with expensive, abstract paintings.
He moved methodically up the sweeping glass staircase, Dante covering his blind spots with a tactical rifle.
They reached the grand exhibition hall on the top floor, the moonlight illuminating the vast space.
His uncle was standing near the edge of an open interior balcony that dropped three stories down to the marble lobby.
He was holding Sophie by the collar of her small jacket, dangling her terrifyingly close to the edge.
"Drop your weapons, Alessandro, or she learns how to fly," the old man sneered, pulling the child closer to the drop.
Sophie was crying softly, but she looked at her father with those brave, gray-blue eyes.
May you like
Alessandro slowly lowered his pistol to the floor, raising his empty hands in total surrender.
But out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow moving silently along the catwalk above his uncle.
