Chapter 15 - Sins of the Fathers
The rain beat a relentless tattoo against the reinforced roof of the underground maintenance van.
Aiden sat beside me, checking the slide and chamber of his matte-black customized SIG Sauer.
Every click of steel on steel sounded like an executioner testing the blade.
Beside him, I checked the tactical trauma kit strapped to my left thigh and the stun baton at my belt.
I had refused a firearm; my hands were trained to save lives, not take them, but I was no longer sheep for the slaughter.
"The basement access connects directly to the old morgue and pediatric laundry chutes," I told the four elite operators seated across from us.
"Vittorio will anticipate an assault from the roof or the main triage entrance."
"He will not expect an entry through the hazardous bio-waste decontamination unit."
Marcus tapped the monitor mounted to the van's interior wall.
"Thermal imaging shows eighteen hostiles on the third floor."
"Four stationed at the stairwell doors, two inside the nurse's station, and twelve patrolling the ward rooms."
"They have rigged the central oxygen distribution line with remote detonators."
A cold shiver raced down my spine.
If the oxygen line ignited, the entire third and fourth floors would disintegrate in a fireball of white heat.
"Vittorio isn't looking for a shootout," Aiden observed quietly, checking the night-vision optic on his rifle.
"He wants an audience."
"He wants to execute Arthur Vance’s child on live underworld broadcast to re-establish his dominance in the syndicates."
The van ground to a halt with a muffled hiss of air brakes.
"We are in position beneath the south wing," the driver whispered through the intercom.
Aiden reached out, his gloved fingers sliding around the back of my neck.
He pulled my forehead against his, his scent of sandalwood and gun oil filling my senses.
"If anything goes wrong, Marcus will pull you out through the storm drain," he commanded quietly.
"Nothing is going to go wrong," I replied, pressing a fierce kiss to his lips through the dark.
"We are walking out of there together."
Aiden nodded once, his expression turning to stone.
"Breach."
The back doors of the van swung open into the damp, chemical-smelling darkness of the hospital’s sub-basement.
We moved like wraiths through the shadows, stepping silently past the hum of heavy industrial boilers.
Aiden led the point, his weapon raised, clearing corners with the terrifying grace of an apex predator.
I stayed right on his heels, guiding his squad through the labyrinthine corridors of St. Jude's forgotten underbelly.
When we reached the service elevator shaft, Aiden held up a closed fist.
We froze.
From the grate above our heads came the low, gravelly sound of two men speaking in harsh, accented English.
"Vittorio says check the ledger files in the director's computer."
"There are no files here, only medical charts of sick brats."
"Keep digging. If we don't find Arthur’s research notes, we burn the whole floor in twenty minutes."
May you like
Aiden looked at me, his eyes gleaming with deadly intent.
He raised three fingers, then two, then one.
