Chapter 3 - The Blood on 47th Street
The rain began falling as we crossed the river, turning the city into a shimmering landscape of black asphalt and glowing red taillights.
Four unlit suburban utility vans glided into the alleyway behind the abandoned Falcone & Sons Meat Processing Plant. The air here smelled of old grease, wet concrete, and rust.
I sat in the front passenger seat of the lead van, checking the seal on my ballistic vest beneath my heavy rain slicker. Beside me, Viktor was checking the night-vision optics on his suppressed rifle.
“Thermal imaging shows eight heat signatures on the main floor, four in the upper office, and two in the basement locker rooms,” Viktor reported, staring at a handheld screen. “Karen Miller’s phone signal is active in the upper office. Dominic is definitely up there with her.”
“No collateral damage,” I reminded him, my voice cold as iron. “We get the documents, we get Karen, and we make sure Dominic understands that if he ever looks at my children again, I will erase his entire bloodline from this city.”
“Understood, boss. Breaching in three... two... one...”
The rear security doors of the processing plant blew inward with a soft, muffled THUD as our breacher charges blew the hinges.
My men moved like ghosts. They swept into the cavernous, high-ceilinged room where long rows of rusted steel meat hooks hung from overhead tracks. Suppressed shots coughed in the darkness—pt-pt, pt-pt. Three Falcone guards fell to the concrete floor before they even realized the perimeter had been compromised.
We moved up the metal stairs leading to the glass-walled supervisor’s office.
Inside, through the reinforced glass, I could see Dominic Falcone sitting behind a steel desk. He was a fat, greasy man in his fifties with a thick mustache and expensive leather jacket, chewing on an unlit cigar. Tied to a chair in front of him was Karen Miller. Her face was bruised, her cheap mascara smeared down her cheeks as she sobbed hysterically.
On the desk between them lay a battered yellow manila folder.
I didn't wait for a breach command. I stepped up to the heavy door and kicked it right beside the lock casing. The door burst open, slamming into the drywall behind it.
Dominic jumped out of his chair, reaching for the gold-plated revolver sitting on his desk.
Before his fingers could touch the wood, Viktor fired a single round from his carbine. The 9mm sub-sonic bullet shattered Dominic’s gold revolver into three pieces, spraying hot metal sparks into his face. Dominic shrieked, clutching his bleeding hand as he fell backward over his chair.
His two personal bodyguards raised their weapons, but six red laser dots immediately locked onto their chests.
“Drop them,” Viktor growled.
The bodyguards slowly lowered their weapons to the floor and raised their hands.
I walked calmly into the room, my leather boots squeaking slightly against the linoleum. I didn't even glance at Dominic, who was groaning on the floor. I walked straight to the steel desk and picked up the yellow manila folder.
I opened it.
Inside were two certified hospital birth certificates from Northwestern Memorial Hospital, dated October 14th, 2019.
Child A: Lillian Grace Blackwell. Father: Marcus Blackwell. Mother: Grace Blackwell. Child B: Emma Sarah Blackwell. Father: Marcus Blackwell. Mother: Grace Blackwell.
Attached to the back was a handwritten letter in Grace’s neat, flowing cursive writing, addressed to her sister Sarah.
“Sarah, if you are reading this, it means I didn't make it through the surgery. Please, protect Emma. Don't let Marcus take her into his world. He is a good man, but his world eats sweet things alive. Raise her far away. Let her be normal. I love you both.”
My breath caught in my throat. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back, burying the grief under a mountain of dark, protective rage.
Grace had thought she was saving Emma. But in her fear, she had thrown our daughter into the mouth of a wolf named Karen.
“Marcus... please!” Karen wept from her chair, squirming against her ropes. “I was just trying to get some money to pay off my debts! I didn't mean to give her to Dominic! He forced me!”
I closed the folder, tucked it securely inside my waterproof vest, and finally looked down at Dominic Falcone.
Dominic was sitting up against the wall, wrapping his bleeding hand in a handkerchief, his dark eyes burning with hatred.
“You think you’ve won, Blackwell?” Dominic spat, coughing up blood onto his leather jacket. “You can take the paper. But I’ve already read it! I know you have a second brat! I’ve already sent the digital copies to the regional Commission! By tomorrow morning, every boss in New York, Detroit, and St. Louis will know you’ve been hiding a direct vulnerability!”
I walked over and crouched down in front of Dominic. I reached out and took his expensive leather lapel, pulling him forward until his face was inches from mine.
“Dominic,” I said softly, my voice laced with absolute murder. “You made a mistake. You thought Emma was my weakness.”
I leaned in closer, my eyes locking onto his.
“She’s not my weakness. She’s my reason to burn down everything you own.”
I stood up and looked at Viktor. “Burn this facility to the ground. Leave Dominic and his boys on the curb in their underwear. If any of them ever step foot north of 31st Street again, execute them on sight.”
May you like
“With pleasure, boss,” Viktor grinned.
As my men dragged Karen and Dominic out into the rain, I stepped out onto the metal balcony overlooking the city. The rain was washing the blood off my hands, but the war for my daughters had only just begun.
