Chapter 5 - The Confrontation
3:51 AM.
Marcus hung suspended by his fingertips along the greasy steel framework of the ceiling beams, thirty feet above the roaring machinery of the Reno Industrial floor. His arms burned with a searing, white-hot agony. Every muscle in his starved body screamed at him to let go.
Below him, Vinnie Gallo was pacing back and forth in front of Rosalie, checking his watch with a foul oath.
"Where the hell is boss?" Gallo spat, kicking a rusted wrench across the floor. "Corsa should've been here by now begging at the front gate. If he doesn't show in five minutes, drop the kid into the hopper. I'm sick of listening to her whiny sniffling."
One of the subordinate guards stepped toward Rosalie, reaching out a coarse, calloused hand to grab her arm.
Rosalie shrank back, letting out a sharp, terrified cry: "Daddy!"
That single word—Daddy—hit the concrete floor like a detonator.
From the shadows of the upper gantry, a voice dropped down from the dark, cold and absolute as a winter grave.
"Take another step toward my daughter, Vinnie, and I won't wait for the compactor to finish the job."
Gallo froze mid-stride, his head snapping up toward the catwalks. "Corsa?!"
Before Gallo could draw his weapon, a suppressed round cracked through the air from the sniper nest above, blowing the gun clean out of his hand with a shower of orange sparks.
At the exact same second, the massive overhead steel shutters slammed down with a deafening crash, sealing the entire facility into a tomb of concrete and reinforced glass.
Marcus, hanging from the ceiling beam directly above the control panel, swung his legs forward, hooked his heels over the pipe, dropped down onto the console with a heavy thud, and slammed his palm directly into the master toggle switch.
CLACK.
The red emergency lights flooded the room, bathing the industrial floor in a harsh, pulsing crimson glare.
"Now!" Dominic roared.
The side doors of the warehouse blew inward in a concussive blast of splintered wood and flying steel. Dominic Corsa led the charge, moving with the terrifying, unstoppable momentum of an avalanche, his SIG Sauer barking twice in rapid succession. Two Salieri enforcers folded instantly, dropping their weapons as they hit the stained concrete.
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The warehouse erupted into a deafening storm of automatic gunfire, ricocheting bullets whining off steel beams, and shouting men.
Through the chaos, Dominic kept his eyes locked on one thing: the small chair in the center of the room where Rosalie was sitting, wide-eyed and terrified.
