Chapter 5 - The Hidden Cell
For a terrifying moment, Colombo stared into my eyes, searching for a bluff, a flicker of hesitation, anything that would tell him I was willing to bargain. He found nothing. My gaze was as cold and empty as the grave I was about to dig for him.
“Basement,” Colombo whispered, his bravado entirely gone, sweat beading heavily on his forehead. “Sub-level two. The old cold storage locker beneath the fish processing vats. They’re... they’re down there.”
I didn't waste another second. I pistol-whipped him across the temple with the heavy butt of my gun, sending him crashing backward out of his chair and onto the floor, unconscious.
“Marco!” I barked into the comms as I sprinted back toward the service elevator. “Secure Colombo and get him down to the ground floor. I’m heading to sub-level two.”
“Copy that, Boss. We’re right behind you.”
The service elevator descended with a grinding groan, plunging deep into the bowels of the building. When the metal doors slid open, the air changed instantly—freezing cold, smelling heavily of brine, rotting ice, and old iron. It was the old fish processing plant that predated Colombo’s takeover of the docks.
I swept my flashlight across the narrow, frost-covered corridor. Rows of heavy steel freezer doors lined the walls, each one locked with massive combination dials and hydraulic seals.
“Lily!” I shouted, my voice echoing down the empty concrete hall, stripping away every ounce of the stoic mafia boss I had pretended to be for decades. “Elena!”
Silence.
Just the low, ominous hum of industrial refrigeration units.
Panic—cold, sharp, and paralyzing—clawed at my throat for the first time in my life. What if I was too late? What if Colombo’s men had already carried out their threat?
Then, faint and muffled through the thick steel of the third door on the left, I heard it.
A tiny, choked sob.
And a mother’s gentle, trembling voice whispering a lullaby.
“It’s okay, my angel. Close your eyes. Mommy’s right here. Mr. Dominic is coming... I know he is.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I rushed to the heavy freezer door, grabbing the steel wheel and throwing my entire weight into turning it. It was jammed, rusted shut from years of disuse.
“Marco! Get down here now! Bring the cutting torch!”
Within seconds, heavy boots thundered down the stairs. Marco and two enforcers skidded to a halt beside me, the portable plasma cutter hissing to life in Marco’s hands with a brilliant, blinding blue flare.
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“Stand back, Boss!”
Sparks showered across the frost-covered floor as Marco sliced through the reinforced steel locking mechanism with terrifying precision. The smell of burning metal filled the air. With a final, violent kick from my boot, the heavy door swung inward, releasing a billow of white mist.
