Chapter 1 - The Abandoned Rails
The cold autumn wind whipped through the abandoned freight district behind the old North City railway station, carrying the metallic scent of rust and damp earth. A heavy black Lincoln Navigator idled discreetly fifty yards down the alley, its headlights cut.
Lorenzo DeLuca stepped out of the vehicle, his dark overcoat sweeping against his ankles. Behind him, Marcus, his most trusted bodyguard and head of security, stepped out into the shadows, hand resting lightly on his holster.
Between them walked four-year-old Emma, her small, mittened hand tucked safely inside her mother Sophia’s palm. Sophia looked terrified, her eyes darting between the towering, dangerous figure of the mafia boss and the bleak, deserted industrial landscape.
“Mr. DeLuca, please,” Sophia whispered, her voice trembling. “She’s only four. Kids say things they see on television, or—or she had a dream. We shouldn't be out here in this place.”
Lorenzo didn’t look back. His piercing grey eyes scanned the perimeter of the abandoned brick warehouse where jagged windows stared down like hollow sockets.
“If she’s wrong, Sophia, you and your daughter will be driven home safely, and your position at the estate is secure for as long as you wish,” Lorenzo said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that commanded absolute obedience. “If she’s right, someone in this city is about to find out why they should never have crossed a DeLuca.”
He knelt down on one knee, ignoring the wet dirt soaking into his trousers, and looked directly into Emma’s wide eyes.
“Emma,” he said gently, softening the edges of a face that usually inspired raw terror across the five boroughs. “You told me you saw her here. Show me.”
Emma pointed a tiny pink-gloved finger toward a rusted corrugated metal door that had been chained shut with a thick padlock. A tangle of overgrown blackberry vines and broken pallets shielded the lower corner of the structure.
“Right there,” Emma whispered. “There was a hole in the wall. The dog went in first. And the lady... she looked back at me.”
Lorenzo stood up and signaled Marcus with a sharp flick of his wrist.
Marcus strode forward, drawing a heavy bolt cutter from his coat. With two powerful snaps, the heavy rusted chain gave way. The metal door groaned as Marcus shoved it open, revealing a pitch-black interior choked with dust, old shipping crates, and the distinct, stale odor of damp concrete and human habitation.
Lorenzo drew a sleek Walther pistol from his shoulder holster, clicking off the safety with a soft clack.
“Stay here,” Lorenzo commanded over his shoulder.
He stepped over the threshold into the dark. His tactical flashlight cut a sharp beam through the dancing dust motes. The warehouse was massive, its vaulted ceiling supported by rotting oak beams.
He moved silently, his footsteps trained to make no sound.
As he rounded a stack of decaying wooden crates near the back corner, a low, guttural growl vibrated through the air.
Lorenzo froze.
From the shadows beneath an old loading dock, a gaunt, heavily rib-caged black shape slinked forward. Its coat was matted, its eyes glowing yellow in the flashlight beam.
“Bruno?” Lorenzo breathed, his throat tightening.
The dog stopped. It tilted its head, sniffing the air. Then, its tail gave a hesitant, solitary thump against the concrete floor.
Around its neck hung a faded red leather collar, old and cracked. And dangling from it was the unmistakable, bent metal ring—twisted almost double just like Emma had described.
“Good boy,” Lorenzo whispered, lowering his gun an inch.
Suddenly, a sharp clatter echoed from the far side of the partition—the sound of an empty tin can rolling across the concrete.
Lorenzo’s head snapped up.
“Who’s there?” he shouted, his voice cracking like a whip through the empty warehouse.
A shadow darted behind a stack of tarps near the emergency exit.
Lorenzo sprinted around the crates, his boots pounding against the floor. He lunged past the canvas, his hand grabbing the shoulder of a heavy, oversized military parka.
The figure spun around, struggling violently.
The oversized hood slipped backward.
Lorenzo’s breath completely caught in his lungs. The world around him seemed to stop spinning.
May you like
Standing right in front of him, thin, pale, with cropped hair and a frantic, terrified light in her eyes, was Isabella.
Alive.
