Chapter 4 - Into the Furnace
The iron foundry at Pier 14 looked like a rusted carcass rising out of the fog of New Jersey. Shadows danced beneath flickering mercury-vapor lamps as rain hammered down on the corrugated iron roofs.
Zara crouched on the roof of an adjacent shipping container, night-vision binoculars pressed to her eyes. Beside her, Ghost lay flat on his belly, his dark tactical vest equipped with a silent GPS tracker and a small breaching charge attached to his harness.
Through the green-tinted lens, Zara counted twelve heavy mercenaries patrolling the perimeter. They weren't street thugs; they were highly trained former military contractors carrying assault rifles.
"They're heavily armed, Miss Coleman," whispered Marco, who had accompanied her along with four of the family's most loyal enforcers. "If we go in through the front, it's a meat grinder."
"We aren't going through the front," Zara replied, pointing toward an old ventilation shaft near the eastern foundation. "The foundry was built in 1920. That shaft leads directly into the lower furnace levels where the air-filtration systems used to be. It's too narrow for a grown man in gear."
Marco frowned. "Then how does that help us?"
Zara looked down at Ghost. The dog met her gaze, his tail giving a single, intelligent thump against the metal container.
"It's not for a man," Zara said softly. "It's for Ghost."
She unclipped a small headset and secured it to Ghost's collar. Attached to it was a tiny camera feeding live video directly to Zara's handheld monitor.
"Listen to me, Ghost," Zara whispered, kneeling beside the white dog and cupping his face in her hands. "Find Jun. Bring us the signal. Be quiet, be fast."
Ghost licked the dried blood on her palm, gave a soft whine, and then his body went rigid with determination.
Zara unlatched the vent cover. Ghost slithered inside without a sound, his thick body disappearing into the pitch-black steel ductwork.
On her monitor, the feed flickered to life. The camera moved through dusty, cobweb-covered pipes, descending deeper into the earth. The sound of Ghost's heavy breathing vibrated through Zara's earpiece.
For ten agonising minutes, they watched the camera creep past armed guards stationed in underground corridors. Then, the camera turned a sharp corner into a damp, windowless concrete cell.
Zara's breath caught in her throat.
Bound to an iron chair in the center of the room was Jun. His shirt was torn, soaked in blood, his face bruised and swollen, but his eyes were open—fiery and unbroken. Standing over him was Don Carmine himself, a gaunt man in his sixties with a silver cane and a cruel, hollow smile.
"You see, Vincent?" Carmine’s voice came through the audio feed, raspy and arrogant. "Your father built an empire, but he was soft. You are soft. You let a civilian woman—a social worker—enter your life. You allowed weakness into your heart."
Jun spat blood onto Carmine's polished leather shoes. "Zara... is ten times the warrior you will ever be, Carmine. And when she comes for you... you won't even see it coming."
Carmine laughed, raising a heavy silver pistol, aiming it directly at Jun's forehead. "She has twenty-four hours left on my clock. But I think I'll send her your finger early as a souvenir."
May you like
On the rooftop, Zara's eyes flared with unadulterated fury. She tapped her com-link.
"Ghost," she whispered into the mic. "Execute signal Alpha. Now!"
