Chapter 13 - The Mirror on the Catwalk
The blood roared in my ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the distant river and the rhythmic dripping of water from the corrugated roof. My eyes bounced frantically between Thomas Vance and the woman bound to the steel pillar.
Her hair was a shade darker than mine, streaked with silver at the temples, and her face was lined with decades of exhaustion and underground survival, but the bone structure, the amber-tinted eyes, and the tiny indentation in the chin were undeniably, hauntingly identical.
*Evelyn.*
My mother.
The woman who was supposed to have died in a Brooklyn apartment fire twenty years ago was alive, staring down at me with wide, tear-filled eyes over the thick canvas gag binding her mouth.
“Surprised, my dear?” Thomas called down from the catwalk, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement as he leaned heavily on his silver cane. “In our family, death is rarely permanent. It’s merely a very effective tax shelter.”
Dante didn’t look up at Thomas. His hard gray eyes were fixed entirely on the two mercenaries standing on the catwalk with their weapons trained on us. His body was coiled like a spring, every muscle tense and ready to explode into lethal motion.
“Let her go, Thomas,” Dante commanded, his voice dropping into a register so cold and deadly it made the air around us feel three degrees colder. “You wanted the ledger. You wanted the accounts. They’re here.”
With a slow, deliberate movement, Dante reached inside his coat, pulled out the worn black leather journal, and tossed it onto the concrete floor at the base of the cargo pallets. The heavy book landed with a dull, heavy thud that echoed off the metal walls.
Thomas chuckled, a dry, papery sound that scraped against the rafters. “Oh, Dante. You always were remarkably predictable when sentimentality got in the way of tactical survival. Do you honestly think I brought you here for a simple book?”
Leo shifted slightly to my left, his weapon coming up a fraction of an inch. “Boss, they’re positioning for a crossfire. Look at the catwalk supports behind them.”
Before Dante could respond, Thomas lifted his cane and tapped it sharply twice against the iron grating.
“You see, Dante,” Thomas continued, his smile fading into a mask of calculated cruelty, “twenty-five years ago, Evelyn tried to steal my entire portfolio and hide behind your father’s pathetic little criminal syndicate. She thought she could outsmart the foundation I built. But empires aren’t built on loyalty, boy. They’re built on blood and leverage.”
Evelyn let out a muffled, desperate cry behind her gag, thrashing violently against the steel cables binding her to the pillar. Her amber eyes met mine, screaming a warning that was completely silenced by the thick canvas.
“And now,” Thomas smiled, spreading his arms wide, “the circle is complete. The daughter, the traitor, and the loyal hound. All gathered in one convenient box. Leo, tell your men outside to stand down, or the girl takes a five-inch hollow-point through her spine.”
My breath hitched. I glanced back toward the dark entrance of the warehouse. Through the fog, I could see the faint glint of laser sights dancing across the rusted corrugated walls outside—more operatives, positioned in a tight perimeter to ensure no one left this pier alive.
Dante’s face was carved from granite. He slowly lowered his right hand, keeping his fingers millimeters from the grip of his concealed firearm.
“You’re out of time, Thomas,” Dante said softly, taking one slow, deliberate step forward. “The federal wiretap units intercepted your broadcast coordinates forty seconds ago. Every maritime tactical unit in the harbor is already moving in.”
Thomas’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second, his cold blue eyes darting toward the high, grimy windows facing the river. “A bluff. You came alone—just you, the tech, and the girl.”
“I never move alone,” Dante whispered.
At that exact instant, Orion exploded into motion.
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The massive black hound didn’t charge the stairs; instead, he slammed his shoulder against a stack of rusted iron drums supporting the base of the catwalk’s exterior access ladder, sending the heavy metal structure crashing violently against the concrete wall.
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