Chapter 8
“Back door!” Salvatore barked, his old legs moving with surprising speed toward the rear service corridor.
“No time,” Dante said, his eyes fixed on the front gate monitors. “They’ve already surrounded the perimeter. There are at least twelve men out there.”
Emma slammed her laptop shut and shoved it into her canvas bag.
“If we stay here, we’re sitting ducks,” Emma said.
“We aren’t staying,” Dante replied, unlocking a heavy floor safe beneath the kitchen island.
He pulled out two suppressed submachine guns and tossed one toward Salvatore, who caught it effortlessly despite his age.
“Uncle Sal, take Emma through the storm drain beneath the pantry,” Dante ordered.
“And you?” Salvatore demanded.
“I’m going to draw them out through the front,” Dante said coldly. “Meet me at the rendezvous point in Flushing.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Emma said firmly, stepping between Dante and the front door.
“Emma, this isn’t a courtroom!” Dante yelled, his gray eyes flashing with frustration. “You are a civilian!”
“I am a co-conspirator in dismantling your family’s criminal empire,” Emma shot back, pulling a heavy Glock from the open floor safe that Dante had left exposed. “And I am not hiding in a drain while you play hero.”
Dante stared at her for three agonizing seconds.
A strange, fierce smile touched the corner of his lips.
“God help me,” Dante muttered. “Fine. Stay low and shoot anything that moves.”
The front reinforced wooden door splintered inward under the force of a battering ram.
Flashbangs detonated in the foyer, filling the house with blinding white light and deafening sound.
Dante fired through the smoke.
Shouts echoed through the hallway as lead enforcers tumbled backward.
Emma dropped to one knee, steadying her breathing just as her mother had taught her to stay calm in chaos.
May you like
A masked gunman rounded the kitchen corner, raising his weapon toward Dante’s back.
Emma squeezed the trigger.
