They Hung My Mom On A Tree, Save Her!” Little Girl Begged the Mafia Boss

Ambush at the Pawn Shop

Suddenly, the front window exploded. Glass shards showered the store.

Harrison tackled Ila, throwing her to the floor behind a display case of electric guitars.

“Down! Stay down!”

he roared.

Gunfire erupted from the street. Bullets tore through the wooden walls, sending splinters flying.

The old man behind the counter screamed and ducked.

“Rigs!”

Harrison yelled into his earpiece.

“Status!”

“Ambush!”

Rigs shouted over the radio, the sound of automatic fire in the background.

“Two vans, tactical gear. They blocked the street. We’re pinned down!”

“Krell!”

Ila gasped, clutching the locket to her chest.

“How did he know?”

“He tracked the ticket,”

Harrison realized, his eyes cold with fury.

“Electronic database. As soon as the pawn broker scanned it to close the account, it flagged in Krell’s system. It was a digital tripwire.”

Bullets pinged off the metal of the guitar stands above their heads. Harrison pulled his Desert Eagle.

“We can’t stay here,”

he said.

“They’ll flank us.”

He looked at the back of the shop.

“Is there a rear exit?”

he shouted at the pawn broker.

“Yes, through the storage!”

the man yelled from under his desk.

Harrison grabbed Ila.

“Move! Keep your head down! Do exactly what I say!”

They scrambled violently toward the back room, crawling over broken glass. Harrison fired two shots blindly toward the front window to keep the attackers’ heads down.

They burst into the storage room, a maze of bicycles and old electronics. Harrison kicked the back door open.

It led to a narrow, trash-filled alleyway.

“Rigs, back alley, north side,”

Harrison commanded into the radio.

“Pick us up!”

“We can’t get the cars there, boss. They rammed the intersection,”

Rigs replied.

“You have to move on foot to Fifth Avenue.”

“Damn it,”

Harrison swore.

He looked at Ila. She was terrified, breathing hard, but she wasn’t freezing up.

She was looking around, assessing.

“Can you run?”

he asked.

“Yes,”

she said firmly.

“Then run.”

They sprinted down the alley. Behind them, the back door of the pawn shop was kicked in.

Men in black tactical vests poured out.

“There they are!”

a voice shouted.

Bullets sparked against the brick wall inches from Ila’s head. She screamed but kept running.

Harrison spun around, firing with terrifying precision. Bang. Bang.

Two men dropped in the alley.

“Go left!”

Harrison shouted, shoving Ila around a corner.

They emerged onto a side street. It was chaotic; pedestrians were screaming and running.

“In here,”

Harrison ordered, pulling her into the lobby of an old office building.

He dragged her behind a marble pillar just as a black van screeched to a halt outside. He checked his magazine.

“I have three rounds left.”

Ila looked at him.

“We’re trapped.”

“No,”

Harrison said, his breathing steady.

He looked at her, his eyes scanning her face.

“I’m calling in the cavalry, but we have to hold them off for five minutes.”

He pulled a second phone from his pocket, a burner. He dialed a number.

“Code red,”

he said into the phone.

“Location Fourth and Pike. Send the Reaper drone. Authorization Blackwood Alpha.”

He hung up and looked at Ila.

“Have you ever seen a drone strike?”

“No,”

she whispered.

“Cover your ears,”

he said.

Outside, the men from the van were advancing on the building. There were six of them.

They carried assault rifles.

“Come out, Blackwood!”

a voice boomed.

“Give us the girl and the chip, and you can walk away.”

Harrison looked at Ila.

“They want to separate us.”

“Don’t let them take me,”

she begged, grabbing his shirt.

“Please, Harrison.”

It was the first time she had used his first name. It hit him harder than a bullet.

“I would burn this whole city before I let them touch you,”

he growled.

He leaned out from the pillar and fired his last three shots. He didn’t miss.

One man went down. Two others scrambled for cover behind a parked car.

“Empty!”

Harrison muttered, dropping the magazine and reloading with a speed that blurred.

Then they heard it: a low hum like a swarm of angry hornets descending from the clouds.

“Get down!”

Harrison tackled Ila again, covering her body with his own.

Boom.

The street outside erupted. The tactical drone didn’t use missiles—too much collateral damage.

It used a concussive sound cannon and flashbang payloads. A blinding white light filled the lobby, followed by a shock wave that shattered the remaining windows.

The men outside were incapacitated, clutching their ears, blinded and disoriented.

Seconds later, tires screeched. Rigs’ massive armored SUV jumped the curb, smashing through a newsstand, and drifted to a stop in front of the lobby doors.

The back door flew open.

“Get in!”

Rigs screamed.

Harrison hauled Ila up. They sprinted through the smoke and debris, diving into the back seat of the SUV.

“Go, go, go!”

Harrison yelled.

The driver floored it. The SUV roared away, leaving the chaos behind.

Harrison slammed the door shut and locked it. He slumped back against the seat, chest heaving.

He looked at Ila. She was clutching the locket so hard her knuckles were white.

There was a cut on her cheek from the flying glass.

“You’re bleeding,”

Harrison said, reaching out to touch her face.