Chapter 4 - Crossfire at Dawn“Ambush!” Gabriel’s voice screamed over the comms channel just as a hail of automatic gunfire tore through the metal shipping containers around us.
Wood splinters, sparks, and shredded steel erupted in every direction. I dropped low behind a heavy iron crate, returning fire blindly toward the catwalks above. Heavy boots thudded against the metal grates as half a dozen masked mercenaries dropped down into the warehouse, weapons blazing.
Victor had anticipated my arrival after all. This wasn't a hideout; it was a killing floor designed specifically to draw me out.
“Gabriel, status!” I barked into the radio over the deafening roar of gunfire.
“Pinned down at the main entrance, boss! They’ve got heavy armor and suppressive fire coming from the upper offices!”
I rolled to the left, squeezing off three precise shots that dropped the nearest mercenary before he could swing his rifle toward my chest. I scrambled behind a towering stack of wooden crates, my heart hammering against my ribs—not from fear, but from the raw adrenaline of survival.
Across the warehouse floor, Victor was already sprinting toward a reinforced steel exit door at the back, flanked by two heavily armed guards.
“Oh, no you don't,” I muttered, pushing myself up and breaking cover.
Bullets buzzed past my ears like angry hornets, chewing up the concrete inches from my boots. I vaulted over a low table, slid across the wet floor, and fired two rapid rounds into the knee of the guard trailing Victor. The man crashed down with a howl of pain, dropping his assault rifle.
Victor threw open the heavy back door, stepping out into the blinding rain and the gray light of early dawn.
I burst through the doorway right behind him, stepping out onto the wet concrete pier overlooking the churning dark harbor.
The rain poured down in sheets, plastering my hair to my forehead and blurring my vision. Ten feet ahead, Victor stood near the edge of the wooden dock, panting heavily, a small matte-black pistol gripped tightly in his trembling hand.
“It’s over, Alessandro!” Victor shouted over the howling wind and crashing waves. “The cargo ships are already moving out into international waters. The syndicate council has already received my encrypted emergency transfer of authority. Even if you kill me, your empire belongs to the Calderons by sunrise!”
“My empire belongs to me, Victor,” I said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, my gun locked steadily on his chest. “And you built your entire betrayal on a fatal flaw.”
Victor sneered, raising his pistol. “And what flaw is that?”
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“You underestimated the crayon drawing of a five-year-old girl.”
Before Victor could squeeze the trigger, a blinding set of high-beam headlights cut through the pouring rain behind him.
