Chapter 7 - Betrayal in the Moonlight
The highway through the state park was pitch black, illuminated only by the headlights of the two black SUVs. The tall pine trees on either side of the road looked like giant, silent spectators.
Sylvio sat in the backseat of the lead SUV, his hands resting on his knees. His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a message from Vincent: The asset is secure. Arrived at safe house.
Sylvio breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Luna was safe. Now, he could focus entirely on the monster from his past.
Suddenly, the lead SUV’s brakes screeched.
Sylvio was thrown forward against the front seat as the car came to a violent halt. Through the windshield, he saw a massive oak tree lying across the two-lane road, blocking their path completely.
"Ambush!" the driver yelled, reaching for his weapon.
Before the words had fully left his mouth, the side windows of both SUVs shattered in a hail of gunfire.
Sparks flew from the armored metal of the cars. Sylvio ducked, pulling his pistol from his shoulder holster as bullets rattled against the bulletproof glass like heavy hail.
"Return fire!" Sylvio ordered.
The door of the SUV flew open, and Sylvio kicked it wide, using the armored door as a shield. He fired three precise shots into the dark woods, answering the flashes of muzzle fire.
From the trees, men in tactical gear emerged, firing automatic rifles. Sylvio’s guards fought bravely, but they were outnumbered. One of his drivers fell, caught in the throat by a stray round.
"Sylvio!" a voice echoed through the dark forest. It was a voice from a grave, raspy and distorted by scarred vocal cords, yet instantly recognizable. "You always were a stubborn old bastard! Come out! Let’s end this like men!"
Sylvio looked through the gap in the car door.
Standing in the middle of the highway, just beyond the fallen tree, was a man. He was tall, wearing a long trench coat, his face partially illuminated by the headlights of the idling SUV. The left side of his face was a mass of shiny, twisted scar tissue—the legacy of the warehouse fire fifteen years ago.
Tony Duca.
"You should have stayed dead, Tony," Sylvio shouted back, his voice steady despite the chaos.
"And let you enjoy my city?" Tony laughed, a dry, coughing sound. "I spent fifteen years in the dirt, Sylvio! In Colombian jungles, working for peasants, rebuilding my name while you sat in your fancy restaurant eating saffron risotto! I want my life back. I want my city."
"You lost the city when you tried to sell out our families to the cartel," Sylvio said, his hand tightening on his gun. "You were a traitor then, and you’re a ghost now."
"We’ll see about that," Tony said, raising his hand. "Kill them all."
Before his men could advance, the dark woods behind Tony’s mercenaries suddenly lit up with a barrage of gunfire.
May you like
The screams of Tony's men echoed through the night as Sylvio's backup soldiers, who had been hidden in the forest waiting for the signal, opened fire from the flanks.
The ambush had been ambushed.
