Chapter 5 - The Belly of the Beast
The text message was a clear declaration of war.
Callum knew they could not stay in the compromised safe house for another minute.
He ushered Sadie down a secondary fire escape that bypassed the main elevator banks.
They slipped into the rainy alleyway and stole an unremarkable sedan parked near a dumpster.
Sadie sat in the passenger seat, wrapping a torn piece of fabric tightly around her throbbing ankle.
Callum navigated the slick streets with ruthless precision, heading straight for the south side.
He explained that the Marcanos operated a high-end art gallery as their primary money-laundering front.
If they were holding Liam hostage, that was exactly where they would hide him.
Sadie argued that walking into the Marcano headquarters was a suicide mission.
Callum calmly loaded a fresh magazine into his pistol and told her he did not plan on dying tonight.
They parked two blocks away from the luxurious, glass-fronted gallery.
The building was dark, but two heavily armed guards stood near the rear loading dock.
Callum told Sadie to stay in the car and keep the engine running.
Sadie refused, stating that she needed to be the one to identify the real sketch if they found it.
Callum admired her stubbornness for a fleeting moment before agreeing.
They moved through the shadows, taking out the two exterior guards with brutal, silent efficiency.
Callum bypassed the electronic lock on the delivery door using a decryption device from his pocket.
They slipped into the dimly lit basement, which was filled with wooden crates and packing peanuts.
Sadie recognized the unmistakable smell of oil paint and turpentine.
She pointed toward a heavy steel door at the end of the corridor, whispering that it was the climate-controlled vault.
Callum kicked the door open, his weapon raised and ready to fire.
Sadie rushed into the room, desperately calling out her younger brother’s name.
She expected to find Liam battered, bruised, and tied to a chair.
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Instead, Liam was sitting comfortably at a mahogany desk, counting massive stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
Standing right beside him, smiling warmly, was the boss of the Marcano family.
