Chapter 4 - THE ALLEYWAY AMBUSH
The back stairs of the tenement building smelled of damp plaster, old garbage, and roasting garlic from the second-floor tenant's stove.
Isabella clutched her small brown suitcase in her right hand, her left hand pressed firmly against her lower back as she hurried down the metal steps behind Marcus.
The rain beat down on the corrugated metal roof overhead, turning the concrete landing into a slippery sheet of water.
"Watch your step," Marcus muttered, shining the flashlight beam of his phone down the dark stairwell. "We reach the alley, my car is parked behind the bakery. We get to a safe house across the river."
They reached the ground floor.
Marcus pushed the heavy steel exit door open.
The cold night air hit them like a physical blow.
Three men in dark trench coats stepped out from the shadows of the brick wall, blocking the exit.
At the center stood Thomas Vance—head of security for the Sinclair family and a man whose face had been broken in too many underground boxing rings to ever look human again.
"Well, well," Thomas rasped, a jagged scar on his cheek twitching as he smiled. "The runaway bride and her little lawyer friend."
Marcus stepped in front of Isabella, his hand sliding inside his coat toward the legal-permit pistol he carried. "Back off, Thomas. You touch her, and Adrien Moretti will feed you to the harbor pikes before sunrise."
Thomas let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Adrien is across town tearing up his own estate looking for her. By the time he realizes she’s down here on the south side, the Sinclairs will have her tucked away nice and safe."
Thomas took a step forward.
Marcus drew his pistol, leveling it at Thomas’s chest. "I said back off!"
"You won't shoot, Bennett," Thomas sneered, signaling the two men flanking him to move in. "You're a paper-pusher. You don't have the stomach for—"
A deafening crack echoed down the narrow brick alleyway.
Not from Marcus’s gun.
The streetlamp above the alley exploded in a shower of golden sparks and shattering glass.
Darkness plunged the courtyard into deep shadow.
Before Thomas could turn around, a heavy body slammed into the brick wall with a sickening thud.
Another man hit the wet pavement, his breath expelled in a sharp gasp.
Marcus blinked against the sudden darkness, lowering his pistol.
Stepping out from the smoke and rain at the mouth of the alley was a figure in a black tailored wool coat, his shoulders broad, his wet hair framing a face carved from sheer granite.
Adrien Moretti.
He held a suppressed SIG Sauer pistol in his right hand, still smoking faintly in the damp air.
Thomas Vance froze, his hand hovering over his holster. "Mr. Moretti... I didn't—"
Adrien didn't speak.
He closed the distance between them in three long, silent strides.
He didn't use the gun.
With his left hand, Adrien grabbed Thomas by the lapels of his coat and slammed him against the brick wall with enough force to crack the mortar.
"If your shadow ever falls within three blocks of my wife again," Adrien whispered, his voice dangerously low, "I won't just kill you, Thomas. I'll make sure your family spends the next three generations paying off your debts."
Thomas choked out a breath, unable to nod.
Adrien threw him to the pavement like a discarded rag.
Then he turned slowly around in the dark alley.
His eyes found Isabella standing behind Marcus in the doorway, her small suitcase clutched tightly in her hands, her chest heaving as she stared at him in stunned silence.
Adrien lowered his weapon, sliding it back into his holster.
He took a step toward her.
Isabella stepped back, raising her hand. "Stay back, Adrien."
He stopped, his jaw tightening.
"Bella..." he began, his voice cracking slightly—a sound no one in the syndicate had ever heard from the great Moretti boss.
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"You weren't supposed to find me," Isabella whispered, the tears finally breaking free. "I gave you back your ring. I gave you your freedom. Why didn't you just let me go?"
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