Chapter 6 - BLOOD ON THE TARMACThe wind howled across the open expanse of the Chicago airfield, carrying the sharp scent of jet fuel and freezing rain.
Marco was still shouting into his burner phone, pacing furiously near the landing gear of the Gulfstream jet.
“I don’t care how you do it, wire the funds before the Swiss banks close their morning audit!” he roared into the receiver.
Clack.
Marco froze.
The distinctive sound of a round chambering in a silenced firearm echoed clearly behind him.
Marco slowly lowered the phone, his face draining of all color. He didn't turn around immediately. He knew that voice—or rather, he knew the terrifying presence standing behind him.
“Boss,” Marco whispered, his voice trembling violently. “I thought… I thought you were still in Florida.”
“Clearly,” Leo’s voice cut through the wind like a razor blade.
Marco slowly turned around, raising his hands in surrender. Two of his personal bodyguards stepped out from beneath the wing of the jet, raising their weapons—
Bang. Bang.
Two silenced shots snapped through the air in rapid succession.
Marco’s bodyguards dropped instantly, hit dead center in the chest before they could even pull their triggers.
Marco let out a terrified shriek, dropping to his knees on the wet asphalt. “Boss, please! It was Victoria! She manipulated me! She promised me a stake in the European shipping lanes—she said you were getting soft!”
Leo walked slowly toward him, his combat boots clicking rhythmically against the tarmac. He raised his submachine gun, leveling the barrel right between Marco’s eyes.
“You betrayed my house,” Leo said coldly. “You endangered my daughter.”
Marco squeezed his eyes shut, tears mixing with the rain on his face. “Please, Leo—!”
Click.
Leo’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Suddenly, a sharp beam of light cut across the tarmac from the airport control tower.
“FREEZE! CHICAGO POLICE DEPT! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
A megaphone roared from the edge of the service road as three black-and-white squad cars tore through the perimeter gate with sirens wailing and red-and-blue lights flashing furiously.
Marco’s eyes snapped open with a desperate surge of hope. “The cops! Leo, you can’t shoot me now! The whole airfield is locked down!”
Leo didn't flinch. His expression remained carved in absolute stone.
“Police corruption in Chicago is a very well-funded enterprise, Marco,” Leo said softly. “And my payroll department is very efficient.”
Before the police cruisers could even brake to a full stop, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up right behind them—driven by one of Leo’s high-ranking lieutenants—and flashed its headlights twice.
From the loudspeakers of the squad cars, a familiar voice crackled over the radio: “Unit 4-Delta, return to precinct immediately. Area jurisdiction error. Stand down.”
The police cruisers stopped dead in their tracks, turned around, and drove away without a single flashing light.
Marco’s hope vanished in a single heartbeat. He stared at Leo in utter, paralyzed terror.
“Any last words, Marco?” Leo asked, his finger tightening further.
“Wait!”
A voice rang out from the shadows near the edge of the cargo containers.
Leo and Marco both turned.
Stepping out from the rain-slicked pavement, holding a heavy-duty tactical flashlight in her left hand and a 9mm pistol pointed squarely at the ground in her right, was Beatrice.
She had left the SUV.
“Beatrice?” Leo’s brow furrowed in sharp irritation. “I told you to stay in the vehicle.”
“You did, sir,” Beatrice said, walking firmly across the tarmac, her heavy footsteps splashing through the puddles. She didn't look back, and she didn't apologize. She stopped right beside Leo, leveling her gaze at Marco. “But you missed something.”
Leo raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Marco didn't just coordinate with Victoria,” Beatrice said, her voice cutting through the wind with absolute clarity. “Three days ago, when I was cleaning the study, I overheard him talking on a burner phone about an offshore shipment of chemical precursors. He wasn't just planning a coup—he was selling out the syndicate’s entire drug-trafficking routes to the federal DEA in exchange for immunity.”
Marco’s face went from pale to completely translucent. “You… you lying bitch, you were cleaning behind the drapes—!”
“I’m quiet,” Beatrice said coldly, a fierce, unapologetic fire burning in her eyes. “People tend to forget I’m in the room. Which is a very dangerous mistake to make.”
Leo looked at Marco. Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at Beatrice.
A profound, dawning realization flickered in the crime lord's dark eyes. It wasn't just gratitude anymore. It was something far deeper. Something terrifyingly dangerous.
Respect.
Leo lowered the barrel of his submachine gun just a fraction of an inch.
May you like
“You’re full of surprises, Beatrice Miller,” Leo murmured, a faint, dark smile finally breaking across his face.
Then, without looking back, Leo raised his weapon, pulled the trigger once, and ended the traitor’s life in the cold Chicago rain.
