Chapter 4 - A Mother's Desperation
The massive truck smashed violently through the chain-link gates of the shipyard and disappeared into the night.
I fired wildly at the fleeing vehicle until my heavy weapon clicked completely empty.
"Boss, we have to fall back right now before the police arrive!" Marco yelled, dragging me fiercely by the shoulder.
We hastily retreated to my heavily fortified downtown penthouse to regroup and plan our next violent move.
I furiously smashed a crystal whiskey decanter against the brick wall in a fit of absolute, blinding rage.
Not only was Lily still missing, but now they had taken Clara right out from under my protection.
"They knew our exact tactical approach," I growled dangerously, glaring at my surviving lieutenants.
"Someone actively fed them our entire assault strategy before we even left the damn estate."
Marco stepped forward slowly, his face unusually pale and covered in thick soot from the explosion.
"Boss, Dante never showed up to the rendezvous point at the docks," Marco reported nervously.
Dante was my most trusted consigliere, a man who had proudly stood by my side for fifteen years.
I refused to believe that the man who had basically raised me in the syndicate would betray me for Russian money.
"Ping the GPS tracker embedded in his encrypted syndicate phone," I ordered immediately.
Ten minutes later, heavily armed and dangerously furious, we kicked down the door of a dilapidated motel on the outskirts of town.
The room smelled sickeningly of copper blood and cheap, harsh ammonia.
Dante was slumped awkwardly in a wooden chair in the center of the filthy room.
His throat had been brutally slashed from ear to ear with absolute, surgical precision.
Pinned violently to his chest with a bloody combat knife was another handwritten note.
"He tried to warn you, but the Ghost always collects his debts."
My blood instantly ran freezing cold at the mere mention of that forbidden name.
The Ghost was a mythical, legendary assassin I had personally shot and supposedly buried five years ago.
If the Ghost was truly alive, this was no longer a simple cartel ransom dispute.
This was a deeply personal, meticulously planned mission of pure, unadulterated vengeance.
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Before I could even process the terrifying revelation, my encrypted phone buzzed loudly in my pocket.
It was a chilling live video feed showing Clara and Lily tied securely to a ticking, heavy explosive device.
