Chapter 7 - The Coordinates in the Steel
The rain over Bridgeport fell in greasy, sulfur-scented sheets that smelled of old coal and stagnant saltwater.
The private slip was tucked behind an abandoned wire-manufacturing warehouse whose rusted corrugated walls groaned in the wind.
Nico guided Mia up the slick wooden pilings of the dock, his hand supporting her elbow with steady, protective care.
Reed followed closely behind, carrying the tactical pack and sweeping his gaze across the desolate industrial yard.
A faded green utility van with peeling commercial decals sat parked beneath the shadow of a decaying loading dock.
Nico pulled a set of magnetic keys from the underside of the wheel well, unlocking the rear cargo doors with a muffled click.
“Get inside, Mia, out of the wind.”
Mia climbed into the interior of the van, sinking onto an old foam bench surrounded by empty wooden pallets and toolboxes.
Her back throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that radiated downward into her hips, a warning sign from her exhausted body.
She pressed both hands against the swell of her belly, taking slow, deliberate breaths to calm the spasms.
Nico climbed in after her, pulling the heavy steel doors shut until only a narrow slit of dim streetlight peered through the glass.
Reed climbed into the passenger seat up front, clicking on a small battery-operated work lantern and setting it on the floorboards.
The yellow beam illuminated the dust motes dancing in the cold air between them.
“We need to look at those tags again,” Reed said, turning his torso around to face the back.
Mia reached beneath her damp collar and lifted the silver chain over her head.
She placed the dog tags into Nico’s open palm, the cold metal catching the lantern light.
Nico took a small jeweler’s loupe from the multi-tool kit inside the glove box, pressing the lens against his right eye.
He rolled back the thin rubber silencer ring that hugged the outer perimeter of the second steel plate.
Along the beveled edge, carved with microscopic surgical precision, sat two distinct lines of engraved characters.
“Read them to me,” Reed said, pulling a worn road atlas from beneath the passenger seat.
Nico adjusted the loupe, his voice steady as he dictated the coordinates.
“Forty-two degrees, twelve minutes, thirty-four seconds north.”
Reed’s pencil traced along the topographical contours of the paper map.
“That puts us in western Massachusetts, right in the southern foothills of the Berkshire Mountains.”
Nico squinted closer at the second line of text.
“Seventy-three degrees, fourteen minutes, twenty-two seconds west, followed by zero-niner-echo-romeo-four.”
Reed paused, the lead of his pencil snapping against the paper with a sharp crack.
“What is it, Thomas?” Nico asked, lowering the loupe.
Reed stared at the map, his jaw slack with sudden recognition.
“That isn't just a geographical coordinate, Nico.”
Mia leaned forward, her chest tight.
“What is at that location, Sergeant?”
“During the height of the Cold War, the Strategic Air Command built seven hardened underground communications bunkers along the Appalachian corridor.”
Nico’s eyes widened slightly.
“Project Nightwatch.”
“Yes,” Reed confirmed, his voice barely audible over the drumming rain on the van’s roof.
“When the Department of Defense decommissioned the bunkers in nineteen-ninety-one, your father’s defense firm bought four of them for classified data storage.”
Mia shook her head, trying to process the magnitude of what she was hearing.
“Jake left the coordinates to an underground military bunker on his dog tags?”
“It’s not just a bunker, Mia,” Nico said, his voice dropping into a grave, somber register.
“It’s where our father kept the master ledgers for the entire Romano defense trust.”
Mia touched her stomach, feeling another sharp twinge that made her wince and draw in a sharp breath.
Nico immediately noticed her discomfort, his brow furrowing with genuine concern.
“Mia, are you in pain?”
“It’s just... the stress,” she whispered, leaning her head back against the van’s cold metal ribbing.
“The baby has been kicking nonstop since the shooting started at the house.”
Nico reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a sealed bottle of mineral water and offering it to her.
“Drink this, you need to stay hydrated.”
Mia took the bottle, her hands trembling as she unscrewed the cap and drank deeply.
“Nico, why does Vance Cross care about this baby?” she asked, looking up into his dark, brooding eyes.
“If Jake is alive and hiding, why tear apart your estate just to find a pregnant catering worker?”
Nico hesitated, trading a dark, complicated glance with Sergeant Reed.
“Tell her, Nico,” Reed insisted quietly from the front seat.
“She has a right to know the target painted on her back.”
Nico leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his face inches from Mia’s.
“Six months ago, our father suffered a massive cardiac arrest at his country estate in Virginia.”
“He died?” Mia asked.
“He died without leaving an updated will,” Nico explained.
“Under the terms of the original family charter drafted in nineteen-seventy-eight, the controlling shares of Romano Strategic Defense do not pass to me.”
Mia’s brows pulled together in confusion.
“Then who inherits the company?”
“The company trust mandates that ownership passes to the eldest surviving son, or to the direct biological issue of the heirs.”
Reed turned fully in his seat, his gaze piercing through the dim lantern light.
“When Jake was officially declared dead eighteen months ago, Vance Cross assumed Nico would inherit by default.”
“Cross controls several members of our board of directors,” Nico added, his teeth grinding together in suppressed rage.
“He planned to force me out through an administrative vote and absorb Romano Defense directly into his private mercenary conglomerate.”
Mia’s eyes widened as the horrific reality snapped into focus.
“But if Jake is alive...”
“If Jake is alive, Cross’s takeover is completely illegitimate under federal law,” Nico stated.
“And if Jake is dead, but your child is born alive and carries his verified DNA,” Reed pointed out.
“Then your child becomes the sole legal owner of an eight-billion-dollar defense empire the moment they take their first breath.”
Mia felt a cold, suffocating weight crush down onto her chest.
Her simple, quiet life in Queens—the laundry she hung on the radiator, the small crib she had bought on layaway—had never existed in a vacuum.
She wasn't carrying an ordinary child; she was carrying the key to a shadow war.
“Vance Cross doesn't want to arrest me,” Mia whispered, horror dawning in her eyes.
“If Cross gets his hands on you, he will terminate the pregnancy to eliminate the competing bloodline,” Nico said with chilling certainty.
“Or he will lock you in a black-site facility until the child is born, using the infant as a legal puppet to control the board.”
A sudden wave of nausea swept through Mia, and she leaned forward, clutching her belly with both hands.
Nico reached out, placing his warm, uninjured hand over her trembling fingers.
“Look at me, Mia.”
She looked up, meeting his fierce, unyielding gaze through her unshed tears.
“I spent the last eighteen months mourning my brother, drowning myself in work and believing I was the last Romano standing.”
He squeezed her fingers with protective, uncompromising strength.
“I am not letting them touch you, and I am not letting them touch Jake’s child.”
Up front, the van’s dashboard radio clicked, and a faint burst of electronic static hissed through the speakers.
May you like
Reed reached down and grabbed the frequency dial, his eyes going wide.
“Nico, someone is attempting an encrypted handshake on our emergency band.”
