Chapter 3 - THE FIRST BULLET
The air in the hallway smelled of cordite and copper.
Rain blew through the shattered window, soaking the dead assassin’s boots.
Gemma flinched at the sound of sirens rising in the distance.
“More are coming,” she whispered.
Her hand slipped from his lapel.
Her eyes fluttered.
“Stay awake,” Dante commanded.
He stripped off his heavy wool coat.
He wrapped it firmly around her shoulders, pulling the fabric tight over her wound.
“Pressure on the ribs, Gemma. Hold it.”
She pressed down with trembling palms.
A soft gasp of agony escaped her lips.
Dante reloaded his weapon without looking at his hands.
Five years of watching her manage his empire.
She had reviewed logistics for every port from Maine to Rhode Island.
She had stared down hostile capos in glass boardrooms without blinking.
Now she was bleeding on her bedroom floor because she had tried to save his life.
The apartment door down the hall splintered.
Heavy boots breached the threshold.
“Clear the rooms!” a rough voice barked in Italian.
Falcone soldiers.
They hadn't come to negotiate.
They had come to erase every trace of the stolen file.
Dante rose to his feet.
His shadow stretched across the broken glass.
He stepped into the dark corridor of the apartment.
The first gunman rounded the corner near the kitchen.
His flashlight beam cut through the darkness.
It illuminated Dante’s eyes.
The gunman froze for a fraction of a second.
That was all Dante needed.
Dante fired three rapid rounds.
The gunman dropped against the refrigerator, his weapon clattering across the tile.
The second man fired blindly down the hallway.
Bullets tore through the drywall, showering white plaster over Dante’s shoulders.
Dante dropped low.
He slid along the hardwood, rounding the kitchen island.
He came up beneath the shooter’s guard.
Dante’s left hand seized the barrel of the rifle, forcing it upward into the ceiling.
His right hand drove the butt of his pistol into the man’s jaw.
Bone cracked.
The man stumbled back.
Dante fired once through his sternum.
Silence crashed back over the apartment.
Smoke drifted through the narrow rooms.
Dante checked the magazines on the fallen weapons.
He took two spare clips and stepped back into the bedroom.
Gemma was slumped against the wardrobe.
Her face was translucent.
The folder was still pinned under her forearm.
Dante bent down.
He slid his arms beneath her knees and back.
He lifted her against his chest.
She weighed almost nothing.
Her head fell against his shoulder, her breath shallow against his neck.
“The file...” she mumbled.
“I have it,” Dante said.
He kicked the dead assassin aside at the window.
The fire escape led to the rear alley.
Below, headlights flooded the wet brick walls.
Three black armored Suburbans roared into the narrow lane, tires throwing water against the dumpsters.
Enzo leapt from the lead vehicle, an assault rifle raised.
Behind him, six Lombardi soldiers fanned out with tactical shields.
Enzo looked up and saw Dante on the fire escape with Gemma in his arms.
Enzo’s eyes widened.
“Cover the roof!” Enzo shouted to his men.
Dante carried Gemma down the iron stairs.
The cold rain soaked through his shirt.
Gemma’s blood spread warm against his chest.
Enzo met him at the bottom of the ladder.
“Falcone’s men hit our perimeter checkpoint on Storrow Drive,” Enzo reported rapidly.
“They knew we were moving.”
Dante stepped into the rear of the armored Suburban.
He laid Gemma across the leather seat.
He climbed in beside her, pulling her head into his lap.
“Call Dr. Rossi to the penthouse,” Dante ordered.
“Tell him if she dies, I burn Boston to the bedrock.”
Enzo slammed the heavy door shut.
The convoy accelerated into the storm.
Dante looked down at Gemma’s pale face.
He took her cold, blood-stained hand in his.
May you like
“You’re safe now,” he whispered against her temple.
“I’m going to make them pay for every drop.”
