Chapter 7 - The warehouse of lies
The broadcast cut to static. Damian’s blood ran cold. The cinematic drama of the moment shattered into absolute panic. He grabbed his radio.
Mansion command, report! Damian shouted.
Static hissed back. Nothing else.
Move! Damian ordered.
The SUVs tore back through the city streets, ignoring red lights and speed limits. The snow was falling harder now, a full blizzard masking the roads. Damian’s mind raced. He had left twelve heavily armed men at the house. The syndicate couldn't possibly breach the walls that quickly unless they had more inside help.
As they approached the massive iron gates of the Romano estate, the reality hit them. The gates were blown wide open. The floodlights had been shot out. The beautiful, pristine snow was churned up by heavy tire tracks.
Damian leaped out of the SUV before it even fully stopped. He sprinted up the grand driveway, his tactical vest heavy against his chest. The front doors of the mansion were shattered. Inside, the golden Christmas tree was toppled over, crystal ornaments crushed into the expensive carpets.
Clear the rooms! Damian roared, his athletic frame moving with terrifying speed through the wreckage of his home.
He found his guards unconscious or zip-tied in the hallway. None of them were dead—Vivienne was playing a psychological game. She wanted him alive to witness his own destruction. Damian kicked open the doors to the library.
The leather sofa where Holly had been sleeping was empty. The wool blanket lay in a heap on the floor.
Damian dropped to his knees, his hands gripping the edges of the destroyed furniture. The intimidating, calm mafia boss finally let a raw, agonizing scream tear from his throat. They had taken his daughter.
Marcus ran into the room, holding a tablet. Boss, they left this on the dining table.
Damian snatched the tablet. A video file was paused on the screen. He pressed play. It was Vivienne, standing in what looked like an abandoned industrial warehouse. The lighting was harsh and cold. Behind her, tied to a metal chair but unharmed, was Holly. The little girl was crying silently, her red velvet dress covered in dust.
If you want her back, Damian, you come to the docks. Alone, Vivienne demanded through the screen, her rosy skin looking pale under the fluorescent lights. Bring the deed to the Romano estate and the access codes to the offshore accounts. If I see a single one of your men, I leave her here in the freezing cold forever.
Damian stood up, tossing the tablet onto the ruined sofa. His eyes were completely hollow, stripped of all humanity. He wasn't a businessman tonight. He was a father.
You stay here, Damian told Marcus, his voice devoid of all emotion.
Boss, you can't go alone. It's a suicide mission, Marcus argued.
May you like
Damian turned to his underboss, his expression so dark and lethal that Marcus took a step back. I said stay. If I don't call you in one hour, burn the Chicago syndicate to the ground. Every last one of them.
Damian walked out into the blizzard, heading for the docks, ready to unleash hell.
