Chapter 9 - The Arsenal in the Floor
Dante didn't waste a second. He turned away from the terminal and walked over to a heavy steel floor safe tucked beneath a workbench, spinning the dial with practiced precision.
"If Marcus has the council, we can't hide here," Mave said, pacing nervously across the concrete. "If we stay, they'll turn this entire district upside down until they find us. We need to get out of the state. Buy a bus ticket. Anything!"
"There is no leaving the state," Dante said, lifting the heavy steel lid of the safe. "Marcus controls the regional transit hubs, the toll roads, and the municipal police checkpoints. The only way out of this city is through the front door of his estate."
He reached inside the safe and began pulling out heavy hardware: two extra magazines for his pistol, a black tactical vest fitted with ceramic plates, and a compact submachine gun wrapped in oiled canvas. He tossed the vest toward Mave.
She caught it by reflex, nearly buckling under the unexpected weight. "What am I supposed to do with this? I work a diner register, Dante! I don't clear rooms!"
"You want your life back?" Dante asked, sliding the submachine gun across the workbench toward her with a sharp clack. "You want to make sure Paulie and Marcus never come looking for you or your Honda Civic again? Then you stop running and start fighting."
Mave stared at the heavy tactical gear, her hands trembling as she traced the reinforced stitching along the front plate. The fear that had kept her paralyzed all morning began to curdle, shifting slowly into something darker, sharper, and far more dangerous.
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"If we go after Marcus," Mave whispered, her voice steadying as she looked up into his hard gray eyes, "we're walking straight into a slaughterhouse."
"Then we'd better sharpen our knives," Dante replied, racking the slide of his pistol with a loud, metallic snap.
