Chapter 7: The Black Train
The train came out of the darkness without headlights.
Too fast.
Dante grabbed Mara and threw her off the platform.
The locomotive ripped past them.
The blast of air slammed them against the concrete.
Sparks exploded.
Steel screamed.
The train never slowed down.
“Get up!”
Dante pulled Mara to her feet.
The old woman was gone.
Only the photograph remained, spinning across the platform.
Mara snatched it.
Footsteps thundered from the tunnel.
Mercenaries.
Dante fired once.
“Run!”
They jumped onto the moving train.
Mara caught the handrail.
Dante shoved her upward.
A mercenary grabbed Dante’s ankle.
Dante kicked him in the face.
The man fell beneath the wheels.
The train entered another tunnel.
The doors between the cars were chained shut.
Dante shot the lock.
They forced their way inside.
Empty.
Except for wooden crates stacked to the ceiling.
No markings.
No labels.
Mara pried one open.
Inside were military rifles.
The next crate—
Stacks of passports.
Dozens of identities.
Different names.
Different countries.
The third crate—
Children’s photographs.
Hundreds of them.
Mara’s hands froze.
One photo showed her.
Age eight.
Standing beside the winged-lion fountain.
Another showed a little boy.
Dante picked it up.
His face changed.
“That’s me.”
Mara looked closer.
The children were standing together.
Someone had written a date on the back.
Fifteen years ago.
The train suddenly jerked violently.
The lights flickered.
A voice came through the overhead speaker.
“Welcome home, Lucia.”
The doors at the far end of the car slammed open.
Armed men rushed in.
Dante fired.
The first attacker dropped.
Mara grabbed a rifle from the crate.
She didn’t think.
She moved.
Two shots.
Two targets.
A third attacker charged.
She spun, struck his throat with the rifle stock, and fired again.
Dante stared for half a second.
“You were trained.”
“I don’t remember it!”
The train entered a bridge.
Wind blasted through broken windows.
A sniper climbed onto the roof.
A bullet shattered the glass beside Mara.
Dante climbed after him.
They fought on top of the speeding train.
Rain hammered the metal.
The sniper drew a knife.
Dante blocked, countered, and drove him backward.
The man smiled.
“You still don’t know who killed your father.”
Dante punched him hard enough to break his jaw.
The sniper laughed through the blood.
“He begged us to save the girl.”
Dante froze.
The sniper shoved him.
Dante slipped.
His boots lost the edge.
He was hanging over the side of the bridge.
One hand.
Nothing beneath him but black water.
“Mara!”
She climbed onto the roof.
Bullets chased her across the train.
She reached Dante.
Caught his wrist.
The train hit another curve.
The sniper raised his pistol.
Mara pulled Dante up with impossible strength.
Dante fired once.
The sniper flew backward into the river.
Silence.
For one second.
Then the train emerged from the tunnel.
Ahead, the tracks ended.
The bridge was unfinished.
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The locomotive was racing toward open air.
And someone had locked the brakes.
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