The Sins Of The Father

Chapter 3

Dante sprinted through the flooded alleys with his lungs burning like fire while he raced against the ticking clock in his head. The glowing screen of the stolen burner phone faded into darkness but the execution order remained burned into his retinas. He shoved the device deep into his pocket and pushed his legs to move faster over the uneven pavement.

"Hold on Kwame," Dante whispered into the unforgiving storm while his boots slammed into the gutters. "Do not let them catch you sleeping in the dark."

The brutal downpour masked the sound of his desperate footfalls as he navigated the labyrinth of the slums. Ten years of aggressive gentrification had transformed the skyline above him into an unrecognizable cage of glass and steel. He forced his mind to ignore the towering monuments of his enemy and chose to depend on sheer muscle memory to find the underground paths he used to rule.

Kwame Mensah was the sole man who possessed the street knowledge required to keep Dante alive in this hostile territory. Dante remembered the night he pulled the young quartermaster from a burning vehicle during a turf war and forged a bond stronger than blood. If Victor succeeded in severing that connection tonight then Dante would become a true ghost with no anchor to the world of the living.

The memory of solitary confinement washed over him as the rain lashed against his scarred face. Kwame had been the sole person brave enough to send encrypted letters into the prison system before Victor intercepted the smuggling routes. Those hidden messages had kept the enforcer from losing his mind in the darkness and reminded him that true allegiance still existed in a city built on betrayal.

His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribcage as he rounded a blind corner and almost slipped on a mound of garbage. The relentless prison workouts gave him boundless strength but his lungs still struggled to process the polluted air of the industrial district. He willed his body to ignore the exhaustion and visualized the arrogant smile of Victor Carmine to fuel his desperate momentum.

"You took my life and you took my son," Dante growled under his breath while he vaulted over a rusted chain fence. "You will not take my brother."

Every passing second brought the hitmen closer to pulling the trigger and destroying his chance at reclaiming his stolen family. He needed Kwame to build an untraceable network so he could find a way back to Elena and the child he never knew existed. The image of the young boy trapped inside that fortified mansion gave Dante a surge of adrenaline that propelled him forward with renewed ferocity.

He pictured the child possessing his own stubborn eyes and swore a silent oath to tear the city apart to claim his bloodline. The sheer thought of another man raising his flesh and blood made his vision turn red with a dangerous rage. He pushed past the pain in his shattered jaw and sprinted toward the industrial zone with the speed of a hunted animal.

He at last crossed the abandoned train tracks and approached the dilapidated exterior of the warehouse that served as a front for the chop shop. The rusted metal shutters appeared locked from the outside and the surrounding street lamps flickered with a dying yellow glow in the storm. Dante ignored the main entrance and slipped around the side of the brick structure to locate the subterranean stairwell hidden beneath a pile of discarded pallets.

He shoved the wooden debris aside with a massive heave and exposed the metal grate leading down into the earth. The familiar vibration of heavy bass reverberated through the concrete floor and confirmed that his friend was indeed inside the bunker. Dante pulled the grate open with extreme caution and descended into the darkness while the rain poured down the concrete steps behind him.

Rhythmic Afro house music pumped through massive subwoofers and rattled the rusted pipes running along the narrow corridor. The overwhelming volume masked the sound of his approach but it provided the perfect auditory cover for an assassination squad to breach the location. Dante crept down the stairs and kept his back pressed against the damp wall while his eyes adjusted to the red emergency lighting.

He reached the bottom landing and stopped breathing when he noticed the steel security door standing ajar off its reinforced hinges. The metal frame bore the distinct scorch marks of a thermal breaching torch used by professional killers who wanted to bypass biometric locks. The hit squad had bypassed the outer perimeter and infiltrated the sanctuary while Kwame remained oblivious beneath the overwhelming bass of his music.

Dante felt a cold dread wash over his body as he crept closer to the breached entrance and peered through the narrow gap. The ambient glow of computer monitors illuminated a workspace cluttered with salvaged circuit boards and vintage football memorabilia. The deafening music made it impossible to hear footsteps within the room so Dante chose to depend on his visual instincts to assess the threat.

"Move into position and take the shot," a muffled voice echoed from a tactical radio on the other side of the broken door. "Victor wants proof of death."

He saw the familiar silhouette of Kwame sitting at the main console wearing a red and white football jersey with his back to the door. Two men dressed in dark tactical gear stepped out from the shadows of the server racks and moved toward the unsuspecting quartermaster with lethal precision. Dante kicked the steel door open with a bone shattering force just as the two hitmen leveled their silenced pistols at the back of Kwame's head.