Chapter 9 - Crossfire
The tactical surprise shattered Costa’s control in an instant.
Caught in the searing glare of the high-intensity spotlights, Costa cursed loudly, instinctively diving behind the heavy wooden chair where Marco was bound.
"Shoot them! Light them up!" Costa screamed to his men hidden on the upper catwalks.
A split second later, the quiet night erupted into a deafening chorus of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off the rusted corrugated metal siding of the maintenance shed, sending a shower of orange sparks cascading down into the gravel. Glass shattered from the overhead skylights, raining tiny crystals down onto the concrete floor.
Antonio didn't panic. Years of surviving turf wars had hardwired his reflexes; the moment the first shot rang out, he dropped low, rolling behind a massive rusted engine block just feet from where he stood.
From the center of the crossfire, Damen laid down suppressing fire with his shotgun, the booming blasts forcing Costa’s snipers to duck back behind their steel cover on the catwalks.
"Antonio! You okay?" Damen yelled over the roar of gunfire, ducking beneath the dashboard as a slug punched clean through the SUV’s passenger-side door.
"I’m untouched!" Antonio shouted back, drawing his own weapon—a custom polished Beretta 92FS he hadn't fired in anger in over three years. He checked the magazine with a practiced, fluid motion. "Flush them out! I want Costa alive!"
Fifty yards away, parked safely behind the stacked shipping containers, the world had suddenly turned into a nightmare for Elena.
The sound of automatic gunfire echoed off the metal freight cars like rolling thunder. Inside the sedan, Mia let out a terrified shriek, burying her face into Elena’s chest and sobbing hysterically.
"Mama! What’s that noise? What’s happening?" Mia cried, trembling violently.
"Shh, baby, look at me, look at Mama," Elena choked out, tears streaming down her face as she wrapped her body completely around her daughter, shielding her from the windows. Every instinct told her to run, but the doors were locked, and outside was a literal war zone.
Suddenly, a heavy thud slammed against the side of the car.
Elena gasped, looking up through the rear window. One of Costa’s fleeing gunmen, cut off from the main shed by Damen’s tactical advance, was sprinting past their vehicle. The man’s face was twisted in panic, clutching a submachine gun in one hand. He caught sight of movement inside the car, paused for a fraction of a second, and raised the barrel directly toward the driver’s-side window.
Panic surged through Elena with the force of a tidal wave. Without thinking, she reached across the center console, hit the manual door unlock button, and shoved her door open just as the gunman slammed the butt of his weapon against the glass.
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The tempered glass shattered into a thousand glittering pieces across the asphalt.
The gunman reached inside, grabbing Elena roughly by the arm and yanking her forward. "Get out of the car, bitch! You’re coming with me!"
