Chapter 41

  ? 1000 Yards ?

  The night was thick over the warehouse district. Inside, the two Veracci henchmen sat on rough wooden crates, each puffing smoke from a bent cigarette. One of them prepared the dose of drogue—a small pinch of powdered herbs, rubbed between his fingers until fragrant, then carefully poured into a slender glass vial. Once finished, he gave a nod.

  “All right. Almost half an hour. Let’s check on the boy, put him to sleep again so he doesn't wake up uncalled for, and move,” he muttered.

  The other henchman stubbed out his cigarette as he stood up, eyes scanning the stacks.

  “Let’s see…” He crouched, running a finger over dozens of crates until a mark in chalk caught his eye. That’s how they knew which contained the children. “The one with a girl has an X… the boy should have an O… here it is.”

  Then—

  A sudden, innocent voice came from outside:

  “Anybody here?”

  Both men flinched, guns snapping up, fingers tight on triggers.

  “Who’s there?!” one barked.

  Alex emerged slowly, shivering, hands raised high, his frame trembling as if afraid of every shadow.

  “P-Please, mister…!”

  “Dear god… just a stray kid,” one muttered, keeping his gun leveled, wary.

  “What is it, boy?” said the man near the crate, sighing in relief, refraining from opening it.

  “Sir…” Alex stammered, voice thin and trembling. “I—I mean no harm. Please… don’t shoot… but… someone fell in some hole nearby...”

  The henchman's eyes narrowed. Finger eased slightly from the trigger. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Alex pressed on, words tumbling with a mixture of fear and urgency. "He had one too... a gun like yours... I thought he was coming here." a gulp, "Suddenly, he fell..."

  "What kind of hole?"

  “It was dark… smelled of coal… too deep for me to—” His hands tightened into fists. “... He was in pain…and I got scared. Thought I'd get help for him.”

  "And the man? What did he look like?"

  Alex swallowed, remembering the features of the man who led the negotiations the other night with Vince for the guns deal, one of the leaders of the Veracci family. "It was... too dark to see, but he looked younger than you... and had slick blonde hair... as tall as you maybe..." Alex's voice softened even more, "Please, sir... don't shoot me..."

  A flicker of doubt passed across both henchmen as they exchanged looks. The one beside the crate stood up and walked to his partner by the entrance and whispered.

  "Sounds like some coal delivery chute? Lots of construction sites and warehouses here..."

  "And who is it? Could it be Faustino?"

  “But it’s supposed to be just us two…”

  Tension coiled between the henchmen.

  “Are we getting backup? A message?”

  "Or worse. We got tailed by someone else."

  The Veracci henchmen exchanged uneasy, confused looks, while Alex, trembling and stiff, breathed in and out with his hands raised, praying his ruse works.

  The one with his gun out shifted, suspicion sharpening his stance.

  “Where is it, kid? This hole?”

  Alex nodded quickly, every motion practiced to look clumsy. “Not far...” he said. “I can show you...”

  The henchman paused, eyes narrowing as he considered the boy’s words. "If someone tailed us, we have to know who is it... if it's Faustino or one of our men, then we have to rescue him. Could be an important message. Could be that the negotiations finally went through."

  Finally, he grunted and motioned toward his partner. “Stay here. Keep watch.”

  With that, he stepped off, following Alex, gun still raised but movements cautious, every step measured.

  Alex guided him along the warehouse’s flank, keeping close to the shadows. The building stretched broad and silent in the dark; the lanterns at the front were too far to reach this side with light. Just beyond the edge of the warehouse, across a narrow alley, lay a secluded section of the construction site—rough wood, coal dust, and scaffolding forming a hidden corner.

  The boy’s heart thudded violently. Every step, every shallow breath, felt like it could give them away.

  They reached a shadowed corner, barely touched by the street lamps. Debris and scattered crates broke up the line of sight, hiding the area from anyone passing by. The henchman kept his gun raised, scanning the shadows. Alex inched closer, movements small and deliberate, muscles coiled with tension. Slowly, the dark mouth of the coal chute emerged, nearly invisible. Deep, narrow, and silent, it blended perfectly into its surroundings—completely unnoticeable unless someone was guided right to it.

  Alex knelt beside it, voice trembling. “Hey! You over there! Mister! I brought someone!”

  No answer.

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  “Can you hear me? Mister ?” he tried again.

  The Veracci henchman didn’t suspect a thing. Alex looked too innocent to be lying, and the darkness hid the hole perfectly.

  He edged closer to the chute. Alex stayed low, heart hammering, but his breathing steady, barely keeping himself in check. He made room for the man, disguising it as a gesture of respect, letting the adult handle things.

  “Who’s there?” the henchman called, crouched with gun raised, staring into the black maw of the coal chute. Alex crept closer, slipping into the man’s blind spot.

  “Just a little more...”

  The henchman leaned forward, balancing on the tips of his toes, slightly unsteady, trying to peer into the darkness.

  This was it.

  Alex launched himself, full weight behind him. The man, slightly off balance already, was bigger, but not only Alex was strong for his size, but his momentum, adrenaline and stress tipped the balance. There was a sharp shout—“Aaaargh!”—followed by a heavy thud as the henchman tumbled headfirst into the coal chute.

  Alex’s chest heaved. For a second, everything was still. Then he bolted, sprinting back toward the warehouse.

  “I did it!” he gasped, heart racing, the thrill and terror of what just happened still clawing at him.

  The henchman who had stayed behind shifted restlessly, lighting another cigarette. “The hell is taking him so long?” he muttered, glancing around.

  The entrance was quiet. No footsteps, no shadows, no sign of anyone approaching. The faint hum of the street lamps was the only sound. He scowled, frustration sharpening his features. For a moment, he considered waiting—but the emptiness reassured him. "No one is around... I'll go check."

  With that, he drew out a revolver and left, leaving the warehouse unguarded in the direction where Alex left.

  Alex slipped in from the opposite side of the warehouse, chest tight but silent, eyes scanning the shadows. Relief washed over him for a heartbeat—

  He froze near a row of containers. Earlier, he’d explored, searching for anything useful, and spotted the coal chute. And right before exposing himself to the henchmen, he watched them approach a particular container, the one holding one of the twins, the boy he heard them talking about. Alex committed its location to memory before stepping out and putting his plan into action.

  "That’s the one."

  The boy opened the crate at the precise moment a muffled cry echoed from somewhere behind them. The sound was broken, pitiful, and urgent. Another child—this one a boy—struggled inside his container. His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp and tangled, and his face, pale but striking, carried the delicate features of a noble. Bright green eyes glimmered with fear, desperation, and a flicker of hope, even as his limbs thrashed weakly against the coarse ropes binding him.

  With all his strength, Alex shifted the crate, letting it tilt to the side. The boy tumbled out, still screaming, and Alex immediately reached for him. “Shhhhht,” he hissed, pressing a hand over the boy’s mouth.

  The boy obeyed, though tears streamed down his face—terror mixed with joy, the first relief he’d felt in days, seeing not darkness or men in black, but a boy freeing him.

  Alex worked quickly, untying him and removing the gag. He forced himself to stay calm, though panic rattled his chest. They were vulnerable, and the henchmen could return at any moment.

  The boy whispered, desperate, “Emily? Where is Emily?”

  Alex’s eyes flicked to the O mark on the crate Casper had been in, then searched the others. “Look for a container with a chalk mark like this one,” he instructed calmly. Casper, still weak, dragged himself along, scanning the crates.

  “Come on! Where is it?” Alex urged, teeth clenched. "We don't have time..."

  A few tense seconds later, Casper’s hand froze. “Here!” he called.

  “Keep your voice down!” Alex warned sharply, but the boy was already opening the crate.

  Alex repeated his tactic—he shifted the container so whoever was inside slid to the ground. An unconscious girl, the same fragile figure he had glimpsed earlier together with Dante. A copy of her twin brother in appearance. Casper rushed forward, wrapping her in a trembling embrace. “Emily…” he whispered, voice barely audible.

  Alex straightened. “Come on. We have to leave—now.”

  “Too late.”

  Both Alex and Casper spun in horror—

  At the entrance, the two henchmen stood tall, blocking their only way out. The one Alex tricked was grimy with coal, leaning on his partner for support, gripping his shoulder; the other steadied him, eyes sharp and unyielding.

  Casper’s fear came rushing back. Whatever fragile hope he had vanished. His mouth hung open, trembling, as he clung to Emily, still unconscious. Alex stood before them, trembling less but cornered, all options gone. "The coal chute wasn't that deep after all ... but... he found him that fast?"

  “Damn brat. You really tricked me. Broke my ankle and leg as well.”

  “Who sent you, kid?”

  Alex swallowed. “Nobody.”

  “We’ll figure that part later.” The man gently set his injured comrade down. The latter drew his gun, pointing it at Alex. “No one moves, children.”

  The first henchman poured a thin, acrid drogue from a glass vial into a handkerchief. “Don’t resist. We’re not heartless—we won’t kill you. You’re my son’s age. But we need answers.”

  “One wrong move, and I swear I blow your brain off,” the other added, gun steady.

  Alex’s eyes flicked to the injured henchman, still aiming. He braced himself, spreading his arms to shield the twins, backing slowly as the Veracci henchman advanced. For a heartbeat, regret and fear pressed down on him.

  Then—

  A sharp, sickening crack tore through the night. Before the echo reached him fully, warm blood splattered across Alex’s cheek. Horror froze him in place. The man approaching jerked violently, crimson blooming across his skull as he collapsed, lifeless. Only then did the metallic echo of the shot ripple across the alley.

  Casper screamed, clinging tighter to Emily. The injured man dove for cover, eyes wide, voice trembling. “What the—! Damn it! Who is it?!”

  Alex’s chest heaved. Shock and adrenaline pinned him to the spot, even as he tried to shield the twins.

  The Veracci henchman waited, breathed in and out.

  Still nothing.

  Finally, he gathered courage, peeking just slightly over the crate.

  Another crack, faster this time.

  The bullet tore through the air with cruel precision, striking true.

  The man’s eye caught it, and he crumpled silently.

  Silence claimed the warehouse, broken only by Alex’s ragged breaths and the children’s shallow panting.

  "Finished."

  “Well done, Vince!” Dante celebrated, a wide grin on his face.

  Vince, beside him, stayed deadpan, crouched behind a bush, the Lee-Enfield rifle resting across his knee. The scope gleamed faintly in the moonlight.

  Almost a thousand yards. Two men down. Two perfect shots. Vince’s eyes missed nothing.

  “Good." Vince said, "We’re right on time. Alex is lucky I know the usual route the Veraccis take when moving merchandise. I guessed right they'd be here.”

  "Also, it's not just a girl. I saw another boy who looks like her inside." he added.

  Dante exhaled, half in relief, half in disbelief. “Thanks a lot.” Despite recent wariness of Dominick, he felt the usual camaraderie with Vince, like old teammates. They exchanged a quick high-five, though Dante’s grin faltered with a twinge of guilt—he had felt like he betrayed Alex just now.

  “Now,” Vince said, voice calm as ever, “as discussed—you find out who those children are. Walk them home if necessary and report to Dominick later. I will be watching your backs from a distance. Don't go to coppers or constables, alright?”

  Dante tilted his head. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “Dominick's orders. They may as well be terrified of any grown-up who gets close. Alex and you are the heroes for now. Knights in shining armor. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Dante frowned. “I thought he’d want to kidnap them if they are important enough to be snatched by the Veraccis. She... could be the reason their fortune is increasing, right?”

  Vince’s mouth twitched faintly. “Well… you know Dominick. He has a special way of thinking. Kidnapping is a little… meh. Too direct.”

  Dante nodded, accepting the logic. Then he sprinted off to the warehouse, moving with the urgency only a messenger could have. Vince watched him go, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  The two men whose lives had just ended were gone, casualties of precision—not carelessness, not malice. Just skill.

  And he wasn't done yet.

  Dominick's shadow is to remember that Vince has very good eyesight and vision, and Alex used the rough description of Faustino, a respected figure in the Veracci mob family to add a layer to his trick on the henchmen to lead them into his trap.

  Also check out Well's Rest, by quarterfreo

  A bareknuckle fighter pursues a pirate captain across a lawless new sea that harbours threats darker than the soul of man.

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