Chapter 13 - The Cold Trap“You’re outnumbered, Lorenzo,” Roman said, keeping his weapon trained on his uncle’s chest. His men spread out into a defensive perimeter, but the steel doors were locked from the outside. We were trapped in a giant refrigerator.
Lorenzo chuckled, a sound like dry autumn leaves scraping against concrete. “Outnumbered? In my own city? Nephew, look around you.”
Suddenly, three of Roman’s own strike team members turned their weapons around, pointing them at Roman’s head.
Betrayal. The oldest story in the Kane book.
“Money can buy a lot of things, Roman,” Lorenzo said, his smile widening to show gold teeth. “Including the loyalty of your most trusted guards. Now, drop your weapons, or the pretty waitress gets her head shaved again—this time permanently.”
My breath hitched in the freezing air, turning to white mist. I looked at the traitors. Men who had eaten at our table, men who had sworn to protect Clara Victoria.
Roman didn't drop his gun. “If you shoot, Lorenzo, my finger pulls this trigger. You die with us.”
“A standoff,” Lorenzo mused. “How romantic. But I didn’t come here to play cowboy. I came for the will. Give me the biometric encryption key to the trust, and I’ll let the girl and the baby live in exile. Refuse, and I’ll have my men find the child and paint the Brooklyn bridge with her blood.”
Hearing him threat my baby triggered something primal inside me. The fear evaporated, replaced by a cold, calculation rage.
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I looked up at the ceiling. The heavy industrial refrigeration pipes were sweating under the sudden strain of the facility being locked down.
I didn't ask Roman for permission. I lowered my hand, aimed my 9mm pistol straight up at the main ammonia valve directly above Lorenzo’s head, and fired three times.
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