Chapter 5 - The Rails of the South SideThe abandoned rail yard off the Chicago River looked like a graveyard of rusted iron and shattered dreams.
Snow was beginning to fall, dusting the skeletal remains of old freight cars with white powder. Three black SUVs sat idling in a semicircle, their high beams cutting through the heavy afternoon gloom.
Inside the lead vehicle, Giana sat in the passenger seat, her fingers flying across her laptop keyboard.
“I’ve breached their local communication relay,” she said, her eyes locked on the glowing screen. “They’re routing their security details through an encrypted frequency hosted out of a warehouse two miles north. If we cut that feed, their men on the ground will be flying blind.”
Alessio sat beside her in the back, checking the magazine of a matte-black firearm with clinical precision. He looked up, watching the intense, brilliant focus in her eyes.
Even in a charcoal suit, with her dark hair pinned back strictly, she commanded the room more than any mafia capo ever could.
“Do it,” Alessio said.
Giana hit the enter key. Click.
Across the rail yard, a chorus of shouted curses echoed through the cold air as half a dozen handheld radios crackled and died.
“Feed is dead,” Giana reported calmly.
“Good girl,” Alessio murmured.
Before Giana could process the compliment, the windows of the SUV shattered in a shower of safety glass.
Gunfire.
Automatic rounds chewed into the side of the vehicle, the sound deafening inside the confined space. Dominic Russo vaulted out of the driver's seat, returning fire with a submachine gun while shouting orders to the security detail behind them.
“Stay down!” Alessio ordered, throwing his body over Giana’s, shielding her completely with his broad shoulders and heavy coat.
Bullets whined off the armored plating of the doors. Giana could feel the hard, relentless beat of Alessio’s heart against her back, steady and furious.
“Alessio, there’s a sniper on the gantry crane to the left,” Giana shouted over the din of gunfire, her voice completely devoid of panic, analyzing the angles like a chess grandmaster. “Forty-five-degree elevation. He has a clear line to the passenger door.”
Alessio didn't hesitate. He pulled a secondary sidearm from his shoulder holster, shifted his weight with terrifying agility, rolled toward the shattered window, and fired two rapid shots into the upper gloom of the crane.
A heavy, lifeless thud echoed against the frozen ground above.
Alessio looked back down at Giana, his dark eyes fierce, his breathing slightly elevated, but his hands completely steady.
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“You okay?” he demanded.
“I told you,” Giana said, her chin lifting with defiant pride even as she lay pinned beneath him, “I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
