It sounded like a war zone, the rapid pop-pop-pop of rifles drowning out the sound of the wind.

“Tony’s men,” Victor muttered, his eyes wide in the dim light of the flashlights leaking from above.

“He’s cleaning house.”

“We have to get out of here now,” I said, my voice tight.

I found the metal handle of the coal chute on the far wall.

I tugged on it, but the hinges were frozen with years of rust and grime.

I hit the latch twice with the heavy grip of my service weapon.

With a sharp crack, the hatch swung open, letting in a gust of cold, wet wind.

Rain poured down through the opening, splashing onto the pile of coal dust at our feet.

I scrambled up the metal rungs first, my boots slipping on the wet iron.

I reached the top and looked out into the estate’s sprawling gardens.

The sky was black, lit only by the orange flashes of muzzle fire from the front driveway.

Black SUVs were parked across the manicured lawns, their deep treads spinning and tearing up the sod.