Chapter 9 - Shadows of the Bloodline
The sound of Isabella’s knuckles beating against the interior steel sent an electric shock through Roman’s chest.
"Pry bar, now!" Roman barked to the breacher beside him.
A heavy hydraulic spreader was jammed into the seam of the locking mechanism.
With a screech of twisting metal and popped rivets, the hydraulic jaws forced the reinforced bolts apart.
The heavy right door swung open, releasing a wave of hot, stale, suffocating air into the misty night.
Roman vaulted inside the dark container, his tactical light illuminating the interior.
Isabella was curled against the rear bulkhead, her clothes soaked in sweat and her skin pale with oxygen deprivation.
Her lips were tinged with faint blue, and her chest was heaving in desperate, shallow convulsions.
Roman dropped to his knees, lifting her limp frame into his arms.
"Isabella, look at me," Roman urged, tearing off his gloves to feel her pulse.
"I've got you."
"You're out."
Isabella blinked weakly into the harsh beam of the light, tears spilling down her dust-caked cheeks.
"Roman..." she wheezed, her vocal cords raw from screaming.
"Silvio... he was here two hours ago..."
"Save your strength," Roman whispered, lifting her into a fireman's carry.
"He told me... Roman, listen to me," she gasped, clutching his tactical vest with trembling fingers.
"He said your father’s limousine wasn't run off the road by an outside ambush."
"He said someone cut the hydraulic brake lines in our own estate garage before Vittorio ever left the house."
"He said the man who did it was Marcus."
Roman froze completely in the center of the metal container.
The cold harbor wind howled through the open doorway, carrying the distant sound of approaching sirens.
Every muscle in Roman’s body locked into stone.
Marcus.
The man who had stood at Roman’s side since they were boys.
The man who had served Vittorio as head of security for twelve years.
The man who was currently standing at the base of the control tower with Claire Bennett.
A crackle of static broke through Roman’s earpiece, followed by Marcus’s urgent voice.
"Boss, we have multiple vehicles approaching the main perimeter gate."
"Silvio’s heavy response team just arrived with tactical vans."
"We need to pull back to the extraction point right now."
Roman forced his breathing to remain entirely level as he pressed the transmit button.
"Understood, Marcus," Roman said, keeping his voice deadpan.
"We have Isabella."
"She is alive and breathing."
"Bring Claire down to the secondary rendezvous behind Crane Four."
Roman carried Isabella out of the container and handed her to his two trusted tactical operators.
"Put her in the armored medical van," Roman commanded softly.
"Administer pure oxygen immediately and keep the doors locked from the inside."
"If anyone approaches without my direct verbal clearance, shoot through the glass."
Roman turned toward Crane Four, his footsteps heavy against the wet gravel.
The shadows beneath the massive gantry crane were deep and suffocating.
Marcus emerged from the mist, his rifle slung across his chest, with Claire walking briskly at his side.
Claire looked at Roman, her face breaking into a relieved smile as she saw the empty container behind him.
"You found her!" Claire breathed, rushing forward.
"Is she alive?"
"She is alive," Roman answered, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Marcus.
Marcus noticed the shift in Roman’s posture immediately.
His years of close-quarters tactical training made him instinctively register the subtle tension in Roman’s stance.
Marcus stopped four paces away, his hands resting naturally near his weapon’s sling.
"What's wrong, boss?" Marcus asked, his tone measured and steady.
"The extraction vehicle is ready to roll."
"Who gave the order to service my father’s limousine on the morning of November fourteenth, Marcus?" Roman asked.
The question hung in the freezing sea air like a drawn blade.
Claire stopped in her tracks, looking between the two men as the tension spiked violently.
Marcus’s expression did not crack, but his jaw hardened under the dim mist.
"Your uncle Silvio signed the garage maintenance requisition," Marcus answered evenly.
"And who inspected the brake lines before Vittorio got behind the wheel?" Roman pressed, taking a slow step forward.
Silence fell over the harbor, punctuated only by the distant lapping of the tide against the wooden pilings.
Marcus slowly closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting out a heavy, tired breath.
"Silvio held my sister and her two children in a safehouse in Boston, Roman," Marcus whispered, his voice cracking with old grief.
"He told me if Vittorio’s car didn't fail on Route 9, they would be buried in an unmarked ditch before sunset."
"I didn't cut the lines myself, but I signed off on the inspection report."
"I let the car leave the gate."
May you like
Roman felt a bottomless pit of cold rage tear through his chest.
He drew his sidearm in a blur of motion, the cold steel barrel pressing directly against Marcus’s forehead.
