Chapter 6 - The Trap Sprung
The sound of Leo’s voice echoing through the darkness of the subterranean vault sent an electric shock of adrenaline straight into my blood. Marco immediately raised his weapon, his tactical flashlight cutting through the blackness, casting harsh, angular shadows across the steel deposit boxes.
"Dante, don't move!" Marco barked, stepping in front of me with his firearm raised toward the reinforced observation window above the vault door.
"Save your breath, Marco," Leo's voice drawled through the speaker system, laced with a cold, mocking arrogance. "The vault doors are three-inch solid steel, hydraulically locked from the control station upstairs. You aren't shooting your way out of there, and your men outside are currently being dealt with by my associates."
I walked calmly toward the intercom speaker, taking a deep breath to steady the rage boiling inside my chest. "You made a mistake, Leo. You should have killed me three years ago in Queens."
A harsh laugh echoed through the speaker. "Kill you? And miss out on watching you rot from the inside out? You were so easy to manipulate, Dante. The great Il Fantasma, reduced to a sniveling recluse weeping over a paralyzed brat and a dead wife! You were so consumed by your pathetic grief that you handed me the keys to the entire empire without even knowing it!"
"You poisoned my daughter," I said, my voice dropping to a register so low it sounded like grinding stones. "You gave a three-year-old child nerve toxins."
"She was a witness!" Leo spat, his calm tone slipping into volatile aggression. "She saw me hand the money to the Moretti hitmen in the driveway before Elena took her into the car! She kept repeating my name! I couldn't risk her talking when she grew older! Dr. Mercer was more than happy to help for a million dollars and a guaranteed seat on our medical board!"
"And Elena?" I asked. "What was her crime?"
"She was too smart for her own good," Leo scoffed. "She started asking questions about the offshore pharmaceutical accounts. She found out about the shipment routing from Marseilles. She was going to destroy everything I built! I deserved half of father's empire, Dante! But he gave it all to you! The golden boy! The favorite son!"
"Father knew what you were," I replied softly. "A coward who hides behind poison and hired guns."
"Well, this coward controls the bank now," Leo snapped. "The air filtration system in that vault runs on an independent loop. In about thirty seconds, I’m going to flood that room with carbon monoxide. You’ll go to sleep right here, Dante, surrounded by all the evidence you worked so hard to find. And by tomorrow morning, I’ll take control of the estate, put your little paralyzed girl in an asylum, and execute the maid and her bastard child."
"You won't get the chance," I said.
"Goodbye, brother," Leo sneered.
A loud hiss echoed from the ventilation grates near the ceiling. A dense, invisible gas began to pour into the enclosed space. Bank President Sterling fell to his knees, screaming in hysterical terror, clawing at his throat.
"Boss! What do we do?!" Marco yelled, pulling his shirt up over his mouth, though we both knew cloth couldn't stop carbon monoxide. "The vault is airtight! We have maybe five minutes before we lose consciousness!"
I didn't panic. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my encrypted satellite phone. The bank vault was thick, but I had equipped my personal phone with a high-frequency military signal booster designed specifically for underground operations.
I pressed speed dial #1.
"Victor," I spoke into the receiver.
"Boss!" Victor’s heavy voice boomed through the speaker from the estate. "We have a situation! Armed vehicles just pulled up outside the estate gates! Russo is here with twenty men!"
"Execute Protocol Red," I commanded coldly. "And tell Antonio to blow the bank's main power grid from the street basement NOW."
"Copy that, Boss!"
Three seconds later, a massive explosion shook the foundation of the bank building above us. The faint hum of the ventilation system instantly cut out. The heavy hydraulic locks on the vault door gave a loud pneumatic hiss as the backup power failed, reverting the vault doors to their default manual emergency release state.
Marco didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, throwing his full body weight against the heavy vault door. With a groan of twisting iron, the door swung open.
"Move!" I ordered, pulling the briefcase of evidence over my shoulder and grabbing Sterling by his collar, dragging him along as we sprinted out of the vault gallery and into the darkened corridors of the bank basement.
Gunfire immediately erupted from the top of the marble staircase leading down from the lobby. Muzzle flashes illuminated the grand arches of the bank like strobe lights. Leo’s men were waiting for us, opening fire with automatic submachine guns.
"Cover!" Marco yelled, shoving me behind a heavy stone pillar as bullets chipped away the marble facade, showering us with fine white dust and concrete fragments.
"How many?" I asked, pulling a sleek black custom pistol from my shoulder holster and racking the slide.
"At least eight on the stairs!" Marco shouted back, firing three precise shots up the stairwell. A scream echoed from above, followed by the heavy thud of a body tumbling down the stone steps. "We're pinned down, Dante!"
"They don't know this bank like I do," I said. "Sterling, where does the old coal chute lead?"
"T-to the alley behind the boiler room!" Sterling stammered, pointing frantically down a dark hallway to our left.
"Marco, hold the stairs for thirty seconds," I commanded. "We flank them from behind."
"Go, Boss! I'll buy you time!" Marco yelled, leaning out from behind the pillar and laying down a lethal wall of suppressive fire.
I grabbed Sterling and sprinted down the narrow corridor toward the boiler room. The air was thick with the smell of old rust and damp earth. At the back of the room sat an ancient iron hatch—the original coal chute leading up to the street level alleyway.
I threw open the iron hatch, climbed the rusted ladder, and kicked open the street grate at the top. Cold, freezing winter air hit my face, instantly clearing the lingering sting of the gas from my lungs.
I pulled myself out into the dark alley, weapon drawn.
Two of Leo’s men were standing near the mouth of the alley, holding silenced pistols, watching the front entrance of the bank. They didn't hear me approach over the howling wind.
Pfft. Pfft.
Two silenced rounds struck them in the back of the neck before they could turn around. They crumpled into the snow without a sound.
I stepped out onto the main street. The snow was falling heavily now, blanketing Manhattan in white. A black sedan was idling near the curb—Leo’s getaway vehicle.
Through the tinted glass of the rear window, I saw Leo sitting in the back seat, holding a radio, frantically shouting orders to his men inside.
May you like
I walked up to the car window, raised my weapon, and knocked hard on the glass with the barrel.
Leo turned his head. His eyes widened in utter, paralyzing terror as he looked into the barrel of my gun—and into the eyes of the ghost he thought he had buried alive.
