Chapter 5 - The Grain Silos
The wind sweeping off the Nevada desert was bitter and merciless, whipping clouds of alkaline dust across the desolate concrete expanse of the abandoned grain complex off Route 95.
It was 11:45 p.m.
A single, rusted floodlight hummed atop a crumbling concrete tower, casting long, grotesque shadows across the dirt road.
Penelope sat in the front passenger seat of an un-marked matte-black SUV parked two hundred yards away in the shadow of a collapsed warehouse. She was wearing a heavy black tactical coat over her clothes, a tiny wireless earpiece fitted snugly into her left ear canal.
Dominic sat in the driver's seat beside her, his large hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. He was dressed entirely in black—tactical sweater, dark trousers, and a heavy leather holster strapped across his broad chest housing a custom SIG Sauer P226.
"Five minutes," Dominic said, his eyes scanning the pitch-black perimeter through a pair of thermal night-vision goggles resting on the dashboard.
"My heart feels like it’s going to explode," Penelope whispered, clutching the seatbelt strap across her chest.
"Good," Dominic replied, without turning his head. "Fear keeps you sharp. Panic kills you. Remember what I told you: You walk out to the center of the yard, keep your hands visible, and speak loudly. Do not run. Do not duck until you hear my voice in your ear."
"And where will you be?"
"Everywhere," Dominic said simply.
He reached across the console, his large hand wrapping over hers where it clutched the seatbelt. His skin was warm, solid, and utterly steady. For three seconds, he squeezed her fingers, anchoring her amidst the rising tempest of her own terror.
"You're stronger than you think, Penelope," he said softly, his grey eyes catching the faint red glow of the dashboard lights. "A woman who slaps a king doesn't bow to a handful of rats."
Before she could answer, he slipped out of the driver's door, closing it with a quiet, muffled thud. Within three seconds, his shadow melted into the darkness of the surrounding desert.
Penelope took three deep, ragged breaths.
She opened her door.
The cold desert air struck her face like a wet towel. Her heels dug into the loose gravel as she stepped away from the SUV, her heavy coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
She walked slowly toward the illuminated circle beneath the buzzing floodlight.
Every footstep sounded like a thunderclap in the vast, dead quiet of the valley.
When she reached the center of the concrete yard, she stopped.
"I'm here!" she shouted, her voice trembling slightly before she caught herself and projected it with the authority she used on loud catering floors. "I’m alone! Show me Eleanor Vance!"
A heavy metal door at the base of the central silo screeched open.
Two men in dark windbreakers stepped out into the light. Between them, dragging her feet in sheer exhaustion, was Eleanor Vance. Her hair was disheveled, her face bruised, but she was alive.
Behind them stepped a third man.
Penelope’s jaw dropped.
It wasn't a mysterious international mercenary. It wasn't an anonymous hitman.
It was Tony Lombardi.
He walked with a heavy, arrogant swagger, a gold-plated revolver swinging casually from his right hand. He was wearing an expensive leather jacket that looked absurdly out of place against the industrial grime of the grain complex.
"Well, well," Tony sneered, stopping ten yards away from her. "The kitchen mascot actually showed up. And look at you—wearing dark colors. Very slimming, Penelope."
"Where is Arthur?" Penelope demanded, stepping forward despite the threat of the gun.
"Arthur is back at his desk, crying into his soup," Tony laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound that echoed off the concrete walls. "He signed over the company twenty minutes ago. Lux Catering belongs to my investors now. Which means I control every high-end contract in every casino from here to Reno."
"You did all this for a catering company?" Penelope asked in disbelief.
"I did this for the access, you stupid bitch!" Tony barked, his face twisting into a scowl. "Lux Catering services every private room, every executive vault, and every high-stakes poker game in Las Vegas! With Lux under my control, my people can walk into any VIP suite in the city carrying 'wine crates' full of listening devices, weapons, or stolen assets!"
He took two steps closer to her, raising the gold revolver until the barrel was pointed directly at her forehead.
"Dominic thought he was so smart, running his empire out of clean boardrooms," Tony spat. "He humiliated me in front of three hundred people on Saturday! He made me look weak!"
"You made yourself look weak when you put your hands on a girl who was serving you drinks," Penelope said, her voice dropping into a cold, hard line.
Tony’s eyes flared with rage. "Shut up! You think you're brave because you slapped the boss and lived? He didn't kill you because he wanted to use you to track me down! But it doesn't matter. You came here alone, like a good little martyr."
He cocked the hammer of the revolver.
"Duck," Dominic’s voice whispered in her left ear canal.
Penelope dropped to her knees on the cold gravel.
CRACK.
A high-powered rifle shot shattered the night air.
Tony’s gold revolver flew from his hand in a spray of sparks and twisted metal. He let out a blood-curdling shriek of pain, clutching his shattered right wrist as he collapsed onto the dirt.
Simultaneously, four matte-black Suburbans smashed through the wooden perimeter fences, their high-beam LED lights flooding the yard with blinding white light. Heavy tactical operatives poured out from the vehicles, weapons raised, their voices barking synchronized commands.
"DON'T MOVE! DOWN ON THE GROUND! DOWN!"
The two men holding Eleanor dropped to their knees immediately, slamming their hands behind their heads.
Out of the darkness behind Tony, a solitary figure emerged.
Dominic walked into the blinding light, his SIG Sauer held loosely at his side. He didn't look at the tactical team or the light bars stroking the dust—his eyes were fixed entirely on Tony Lombardi, who was squirming in the dirt, sobbing hysterically.
Dominic stopped beside Penelope. He reached down with his left hand, grasping her elbow, and pulled her smoothly to her feet.
"You alright?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine," she breathed, watching as Matteo rushed past them to secure Eleanor Vance and wrap her in a blanket.
Dominic turned his focus to Tony. He reached down, grabbed the front of Tony’s leather jacket with one hand, and hoisted the grown man off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all.
"You brought a revolver to a war, Tony," Dominic murmured softly, his voice sickeningly calm. "And you used an innocent woman to fight your battles."
"Dominic... please!" Tony begged, blood dripping from his ruined hand onto Dominic’s boots. "It wasn't my idea! I was approached! A guy from Chicago—he paid me two hundred grand to set up the surveillance on the girl! He said he wanted to create a rift in your territory!"
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "Chicago?"
"Yes! The Moretti family!" Tony squealed, completely breaking under the pressure. "They wanted to bleed your perimeter! They promised me I’d take over the West Coast operations once you were neutralized! Please, Dominic... we've known each other for fifteen years!"
Dominic stared at him for three long, agonizing seconds.
"Fifteen years," Dominic repeated softly. "And you still didn't learn that I don't give second chances."
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Dominic turned his head toward Matteo. "Take him to the warehouse in North Las Vegas. Keep him alive until we find out which Moretti lieutenant authorized the drop."
"No! Dominic! NO!" Tony screamed as two tactical guards dragged him toward the rear of a Suburban, his boots dragging in the dirt until the heavy doors slammed shut, cutting off his cries.
