Chapter 6 - The Iron Mines of Michigan
The snow was falling in thick, blinding sheets by the time Ethan’s armored convoy reached the abandoned iron mining complex outside of Iron Mountain, Michigan. The rusted skeleton of the old processing plant rose against the dark northern sky like a monument to industrial decay.
According to the decrypted coordinates on Hannah’s flash drive, the underground storage vaults beneath shaft number four were being used by the Caruso syndicate as an off-site holding facility for contraband—and leverage.
Ethan stepped out of the lead SUV, pulling his wool coat tight against the sub-zero wind. Four of his most trusted capos stepped out behind him, their shotguns and tactical rifles slung securely across their chests.
“ perimeter secured,” whispered Miller, the head of security, tapping his radio earpiece. “Thermal imaging shows at least six armed guards inside the main administrative office. But there’s a heat signature deeper down, in the lower sub-level.”
“That’s where they keep the prisoners,” Ethan said.
They moved with silent, practiced precision, bypassing the frozen chain-link gates and slipping through a side maintenance hatch that had been forced open years ago.
Inside the concrete-walled corridor, the air smelled of damp iron, diesel fuel, and old dust. The only sound was the crunch of frozen gravel beneath their boots and the distant drip of melting ice from the ceiling overhead.
As they approached the heavy steel door of sub-level four, two syndicate guards stepped out from the shadows, raising their submachine guns.
They didn't even have time to pull the triggers.
Ethan’s capos moved like ghosts. Two suppressed cracks echoed down the hallway, and the guards crumpled silently to the concrete floor.
Ethan stepped over them, grabbed the heavy digital keypad on the vault door, and jammed a bypass device into the maintenance port. The red light flashed green with a soft chime.
He kicked the heavy steel door open.
Inside the dimly lit concrete room, sitting on a small cot with a woolen blanket wrapped around his shoulders, was a little boy with dark, curls and enormous brown eyes.
Leo.
Julian and Hannah’s son.
The boy looked up, blinking against the sudden rush of hallway light. He looked terrified, clutching a small wooden toy car in his sticky fingers.
“Who... who are you?” the boy whispered, his voice trembling.
May you like
Ethan dropped to his knees. The hard, ruthless king of the Chicago lakefront felt a knot tighten in his throat so fiercely he could barely breathe. He looked into the boy’s eyes—eyes that held the exact same shape as his late brother Julian’s.
“Hey, buddy,” Ethan said, his voice cracking slightly as he reached out a trembling hand. “I’m your uncle Ethan. And I’m here to take you home to your mom.”
