The steel mill dissolved into a storm of noise and lead.
Bullets sparked off the concrete pillar shielding me, sending sharp chips of stone slicing into my cheek. The air instantly filled with the acrid smell of propellant and pulverized rock.
"Suppressing fire!" Cassian roared, leaning out from behind a rusted generator to unleash a burst from his shotgun.
The boom was thunderous, momentarily drowning out the rat-a-tat of the submachine guns raining hell from the catwalks above.
"Rook! Check Salvatore!" Cassian ordered, racking the slide.
Rook didn't hesitate. He broke cover, sprinting across the kill zone like a linebacker. Bullets kicked up dust at his heels. He slid behind the limousine where Don Salvatore had dragged himself.
I peeked around the pillar.
Salvatore was propped up against the tire, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His four guards were dead—cut down in the first volley. The Old Lion was alone, holding a heavy revolver, firing blindly over the hood of the car.
