Chapter -16
1226 Words
Chapter 16 – The Inferno Begins
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The desert wind bit through Dante’s jacket as he crouched behind a rocky ridge, eyes locked on the airstrip below. The convoy of black SUVs shimmered under the moonlight, guards pacing with military precision.
Beside him, Killian loaded his silencer. “Five-man perimeter, thermal drones in the sky, two snipers on the rooftop of the hangar.”
Aria, prone behind a sniper rifle she’d barely been trained to use, asked, “Are we sure we can pull this off without casualties?”
Dante checked the magazine in his Glock. “We don’t have the luxury of clean hands anymore.”
She frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
He didn’t answer. But when their eyes met, the fire in him softened—just enough.
Luca, now carrying himself more like the boy Dante once knew, knelt beside them. “If I can cause a distraction, maybe I can draw half of them away.”
Dante hesitated.
“He’s right,” Killian said. “They know Marco’s worth. They won’t risk spreading thin, but if something explodes on the west side…”
Dante finally nodded. “We split. Aria and Killian, flank the north hangar—rescue the kids. I’ll take the south wing, draw out Marco.”
Aria gripped his arm. “Don’t do something stupid.”
His smirk returned for the first time in days. “We passed stupid ten corpses ago.”
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They moved like ghosts.
Luca circled wide, planting small charges at key fuel drums near the west side of the strip. With Killian’s help, he’d learned the basics of remote detonation—and this was his test.
As he reached the last barrel, a memory struck him like lightning.
The smell of gasoline.
The cold metal of a gun pressed to his father’s temple.
Marco’s laughter.
He staggered.
Flashbacks flooded in—his father begging, a scream, the sound of fire, gunshots in the distance. Then silence.
He had seen it all.
He had survived it all.
And Marco had tried to erase him.
Luca set the final charge, jaw clenched.
---
From their northern position, Aria and Killian reached the back of the hangar. The sound of muffled crying leaked through the walls. Aria felt a sick twist in her stomach.
Killian whispered, “Time to cut the locks.”
With swift precision, he disabled the chain. Aria slipped inside.
Ten children, most under fifteen, huddled in the shadows. Faces bruised. Eyes empty.
Aria knelt, voice soft but urgent. “We’re here to help. Stay quiet and follow me.”
The kids moved like frightened deer, trusting only because of how she spoke, not what she said.
She led them out, one by one.
But then the alarm went off.
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BOOM!
The west side of the airfield erupted in flames.
Luca’s distraction worked.
Guards shouted. Flashlights swept the field.
In the chaos, Dante slipped through the southern entrance of the hangar where Marco stood beside a stack of crates, barking orders into a satellite phone.
“Get the girls out now! Get them to the truck and—”
He turned—and froze.
Dante emerged from the shadows like death itself, Glock raised.
“Hello, Marco.”
Marco didn’t flinch. “You’ve got guts showing up here.”
“You killed my family.”
Marco scoffed. “That again? You still don’t get it, do you? I did what had to be done. We were kings, and your father—he forgot the rules.”
“Luca was ten!”
“And now he’s what? Your moral compass?”
Dante fired.
The bullet grazed Marco’s shoulder.
Another inch, it would’ve been fatal.
Marco dove for cover, returning fire.
Crates exploded.
Bullets shredded the air.
The two danced their deadly ballet amid screams, smoke, and sirens.
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Outside, Aria and Killian led the children toward the getaway van.
Then two guards spotted them.
“Get down!” Killian shouted, firing first.
Aria shielded the children, ushering them into the van one by one. She returned fire when necessary—shaky hands, but steady will.
Luca appeared, grabbing two kids by the hand and pulling them inside.
“We’ve got them all!” Aria shouted. “Where’s Dante?”
Killian checked the hangar. “Still inside!”
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Back in the hangar, Dante had Marco pinned behind a stack of crates.
Marco coughed blood. “You think killing me fixes anything?”
“No,” Dante replied, approaching slowly. “But it’s a start.”
Marco suddenly kicked over a fuel drum—fire spilling out as a lighter in his hand ignited the trail.
Everything burst into flames.
Dante was thrown back, coughing, vision blurred.
Marco ran.
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Dante stumbled out the southern side of the hangar just as the roof caved in.
Killian grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the van.
Luca slammed the rear doors shut as Aria pulled Dante into the passenger seat.
“I had him!” Dante coughed.
“And we had twenty lives in our hands!” Aria snapped, gripping the wheel. “Which one mattered more?”
Dante didn’t answer.
They sped off into the night, the airstrip behind them engulfed in a sea of fire.
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Hours later, at another safehouse—this one a church basement in northern Utah—they laid low.
The children were given clean blankets. Food. Warmth. Smiles, for the first time in days.
Aria tended to Dante’s burns in silence.
Finally, he spoke.
“I had him. And I let him go.”
“You didn’t let him go,” she said gently. “You chose something bigger.”
He turned to her. “He’ll kill again. He won’t stop.”
“Neither will we.”
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In the corner, Luca stood alone, watching the children sleep. His own memories now fully returned. His hands still trembling from the explosion he caused.
Killian stepped beside him.
“You okay?”
Luca nodded. “I remember everything.”
Killian paused. “That’s not always a blessing.”
“I saw Marco shoot my father,” Luca whispered. “I saw Dante cry. I saw the fire. And I ran.”
“No,” Killian corrected him. “You survived. And now you get to be the man your father wanted you to be.”
Luca’s eyes, once fogged with trauma, now burned with purpose.
“I want to help. I’m ready.”
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That night, Dante stood before the altar of the church. Alone.
Hands stained. Soul heavier than ever.
Aria entered quietly, barefoot on the stone floor.
“I thought you’d be asleep.”
“I couldn’t.”
She stood beside him.
He turned.
“I don’t know if I’m becoming better… or worse.”
“You’re becoming something new.”
He reached for her hand, and this time—finally—she didn’t pull away.
“Whatever this is,” he whispered, “it doesn’t erase the blood I’ve spilled.”
“No,” she said. “But maybe it plants something in the soil you burned.”
A pause.
Then she asked, “What now?”
He looked toward the stained-glass window.
“Now… we find Marco again. But next time…”
He turned back, voice cold and certain.
“I bury him.”
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