Chapter 3 - Steam and Shadows
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The lock on the old iron door was rusted, the internal pins brittle from years of moisture. Leah jammed the blade into the keyhole, twisting it with far more force than technique. Miraculously, the rusted metal gave way with a loud crack.
"Move," Dante ordered, his voice tight. The drug was still fighting his system, his massive frame leaning heavily against the damp brick wall as they stepped into the suffocating heat of the steam tunnels.
The air was thick and smelled of sulfur and old standing water. Only a few flickering emergency bulbs lit the narrow path. Leah walked ahead, her busted shoe squelching in the puddles, occasionally glancing back to make sure the mob boss hadn't collapsed.
"Why did they want you alive?" Leah asked, her voice echoing softly off the curved ceiling.
"Sable is a coward," Dante grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "He needs my thumbprint and retinal scan to access the syndicate's offshore ledgers. You can't get those from a corpse."
Before Leah could respond, the heavy iron door they had just come through slammed open in the distance. The sound of heavy boots echoed down the tunnel.
"They found the boiler room," Dante whispered, pulling a spare magazine from his pocket—though he had no gun to put it in.
"There's an exit grate about fifty yards ahead," Leah said, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. "It opens up into an alley behind a diner."
"Can you run in those shoes?" Dante asked, glancing at her taped heel.
"Watch me."
They sprinted. The sound of shouting bounced off the walls behind them. A suppressed gunshot hit a steam pipe directly above their heads, sending a blast of scalding white vapor into the tunnel.
"Up!" Leah screamed, pointing to a rusted iron ladder leading to a street-level grate.
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Dante practically threw her up the ladder, his sheer physical strength ignoring the poison in his veins. Leah pushed the heavy iron grate open, tumbling out into the freezing rain of the alleyway. Dante hauled himself up a second later, dragging the grate back into place just as a flashlight beam cut through the steam below.
They lay on the wet asphalt, gasping for air, the rain washing the dirt from their faces.
