Chapter 11 - The Aftermath of Violence
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The back of the van was pitch black, silent except for the frantic sound of their own breathing and the muffled shouts of the attackers outside trying to pry open the heavy steel doors.
Emily was curled on the floor, trembling violently, her hands covering her ears.
Suddenly, the emergency red lighting clicked on, bathing the small space in a sinister glow.
Santino sat in his wheelchair, his gun still raised, aimed squarely at the steel partition.
“Are you hit?” he asked, his voice completely calm, devoid of any panic.
“No,” Emily gasped, tears streaming down her face. “I’m okay.”
Santino looked at her, his eyes softening slightly. “You pulled the partition down. You locked us in.”
“It was the only way to stop them from shooting you,” she choked out.
“They will try to blow the back doors now,” Santino said matter-of-factly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a secure satellite phone. He dialed a single number.
“We are boxed in on Route 9. Heavy casualties in the cab. I need extraction. Now.”
He hung up.
“How long do we have?” Emily whispered.
“Ten minutes until backup arrives. The doors will hold for five.”
They sat in the terrifying red light, listening to the metallic clanging of tools working on the exterior hinges of the armored van.
“Why did they attack us?” Emily asked, shivering.
“Because someone told them my route,” Santino said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal whisper. “Someone inside my house sold my schedule to Carlo Morretti.”
Emily’s blood ran cold. She remembered the whispered conversation in the hallway. Victoria and Rafe.
Before she could speak, a massive explosion rocked the van. The heavy back doors blew inward, smoke and fire pouring into the cabin.
Santino raised his gun and fired blindly into the smoke.
Two men screamed and dropped.
A third man charged through the smoke, raising an assault rifle directly at Santino.
Emily didn't hesitate. She grabbed the heavy, metal fire extinguisher mounted on the wall and swung it with every ounce of strength she possessed. It connected with the attacker's helmet with a sickening crunch. The man collapsed, his rifle clattering to the floor.
Suddenly, the wail of dozens of sirens and the roar of heavy engines filled the air.
Santino’s backup had arrived.
A brutal, overwhelming wave of automatic gunfire swept the street outside, neutralizing the Morretti ambush in seconds.
The smoke cleared. Rafe Lombardi stood in the ruined doorway of the van, his assault rifle smoking.
“Boss! Are you alright?” Rafe yelled, looking wildly around the interior.
May you like
Santino lowered his gun, his eyes locking onto his security chief with absolute, terrifying suspicion.
“I am alive, Rafe,” Santino said coldly. “No thanks to your perimeter security.”
