Chapter 5 - The Silent Counter-Strike
Rain slammed against the rusty corrugated metal roof of the abandoned cold-storage facility in Queens.
Outside, the surrounding industrial district was dead, empty, and wrapped in thick midnight fog.
Three blacked-out SUVs pulled into the alleyway behind the facility, their engines purring quietly before shutting off completely. Twelve men in dark tactical gear stepped out onto the slick asphalt, moving like shadows toward the rear loading dock.
Aleandro took the lead, a night-vision visor lowered over his eyes.
He gestured to Marco, who approached the heavy steel door with an electronic lock-pick. Within eight seconds, the door clicked open, sliding inward without a sound.
The air inside smelled of damp concrete, old copper, and diesel fuel.
Aleandro raised his hand, signaling the team to split into two elements. Marco took six men to clear the upper catwalks, while Aleandro led the remaining five down the central corridor toward the rear office blocks.
Through his visor, Aleandro spotted two guards standing near a reinforced door at the end of the hallway. They wore civilian leather jackets over tactical vests, holding automatic shotguns.
“Vance’s mercenaries,” Marco’s voice whispered through Aleandro’s earpiece. “Confirming identity. They belong to Cassian Vance’s private enforcement unit.”
Aleandro’s jaw tightened. Cassian Vance—the ruthless head of the rival Brooklyn syndicate who had been trying to breach Moretti territory for three years.
Aleandro didn’t wait for an order. He stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, raised his suppressed pistol, and fired four rapid shots.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
Both guards collapsed silently onto the floor before they could even raise their weapons.
Aleandro moved fast, rushing to the heavy steel door. He looked through the small, reinforced glass window.
Inside the small office room sat little Clara, curled up on a cot under a thin blanket, holding a small plush bear. Sitting at a desk across from her was a third guard, eating a sandwich while watching a portable television.
Aleandro placed a small breacher charge over the lock mechanism on the door frame.
“Three… two… one…”
POP.
The charge blew the lock cylinder clean out of the steel door.
Aleandro kicked the door wide open, rushed inside, and brought the butt of his pistol down across the guard’s temple before the man could draw his sidearm. The guard hit the floor cold.
The room went quiet.
Little Clara sat up on the cot, clutching her plush bear against her chest, her dark curly hair messy, her big brown eyes wide with fear as she looked at the tall man in dark armor standing before her.
Aleandro instantly dropped his weapon into its holster, removed his tactical helmet, and dropped to his knees on the concrete floor to bring himself down to her height.
“Clara?” Aleandro asked, his voice softer than any of his men had ever heard it.
The little girl shivered, holding her bear tighter. “Are… are you the bad man?”
Aleandro shook his head gently, offering a warm, soft smile. “No, sweetie. I’m Aleandro. Your Aunt Isabella sent me to bring you home.”
At the mention of Isabella’s name, Clara’s tiny face crumpled. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she threw her small arms around Aleandro’s neck, burying her face into his shoulder.
May you like
Aleandro gathered the little girl into his broad arms, lifting her up against his chest, wrapping his heavy tactical jacket over her cold shoulders to shield her from the rain.
“I’ve got you, little one,” Aleandro whispered, resting his hand over her head as he walked out of the room. “You’re safe now.”
