Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF TRUTH
The impact threw Gabriel Bianchi against the tunnel wall.
Vincent scrambled backward into the shadows of an access corridor, clutching his broken wrist.
Dominic didn't hesitate.
He grabbed my trench coat by the lapels and hauled me into the passenger side of the delivery truck.
Leo kicked the driver’s side door open, bleeding heavily from his forehead.
“Down!” Leo screamed.
Automatic gunfire from Bianchi’s surviving men raked the side of the truck.
Bullets punch-holed the sheet metal with deafening thuds.
Dominic threw himself into the cab, slamming the door.
He reached over and slammed the truck into reverse.
Tires shrieked against the wet concrete floor.
The truck backed out into the subterranean access ramp, smashing through a padlocked security gate.
We burst out into the gray light of a rainy dawn on West Street.
The rain hammered the windshield.
Behind us, sirens wailed across lower Manhattan.
Thick black smoke was already pouring from the upper floors of Dominic’s Tribeca penthouse.
Leo slumped against the steering wheel, panting.
“Where to, boss?” Leo wheezed.
“The river house,” Dominic ordered.
“Cold Spring. Upstate.”
“Nobody knows about that property except the old man’s ghost.”
Dominic reached over, pressing a clean cloth against Leo’s bleeding head.
“You did good, Leo.”
“I owed you one, boss,” Leo grunted.
I sat in the corner of the vinyl bench seat, my back pressed against the door.
My hands were shaking so hard I had to tuck them under my arms.
The ledger was still clutched against my ribs.
Dominic turned to look at me.
His shirt was torn.
Black soot coated his cheeks.
He reached out toward my hand.
I flinched away.
I pulled myself as tight against the passenger door as the cab allowed.
His hand froze in mid-air.
A flicker of raw pain passed across his features.
He let his hand drop to his knee.
“Mia,” he said softly.
“Don’t speak to me,” I said.
The words were cold.
Dead.
“You lived with me for eight months,” I said, looking out the rain-streaked window.
“You watched me eat breakfast.”
“You bought me coffee from that small cart on Mercer Street.”
“You listened to me talk about my mother’s old sketches.”
I turned my head to glare at him.
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
“You knew the entire time.”
“I didn't know everything,” Dominic said.
His voice was hoarse.
“I knew your grandfather’s name was on the old trusts.”
“I didn't know my father burned his house down until three weeks ago.”
“And when you found out?” I demanded.
“Did you tell me?”
“Did you sit down at that mahogany desk and say, ‘Mia, my family murdered yours’?”
Dominic’s jaw hardened.
He looked straight ahead through the sweep of the windshield wipers.
“No,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I knew you would walk out the door.”
“And you couldn't stand losing your legal signature?” I sneered.
Dominic turned his head sharply.
His eyes were blazing with a dark, suffocating intensity.
“I didn't give a damn about the signature, Mia!” he roared.
His voice filled the small cab, overpowering the sound of the engine.
Leo glanced sideways, but kept his eyes on the highway.
“I had already burned the legal transfer documents two months ago!” Dominic said, his chest heaving.
“I didn't want the money!”
“I wanted you!”
The words hung in the damp air between us.
“I kept guards at your door because Vincent had already put a contract on your life,” Dominic whispered.
“He knew that if you died, the trust defaulted to the syndicate.”
“I wasn't keeping you in a cage to control you, Mia.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a desperate rasp.
“I was keeping you in a cage because the moment you stepped out, the wolves were waiting.”
I looked down at the black leather ledger in my lap.
My fingers traced the faded gold crest.
Inside the back binding, where the stitching had pulled loose from moisture, a tiny piece of plastic protruded.
A micro-SD card.
Neither Gabriel nor Vincent had noticed it.
I pulled it free with my fingernail, concealing it inside the palm of my hand.
Dominic looked out the window as we crossed the George Washington Bridge into the misty forests of upstate New York.
“We’re almost safe,” Dominic murmured.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic clink echoed from beneath the truck’s chassis.
A red LED light blinked through the floorboards near my feet.
May you like
A magnetic GPS beacon.
And above the tree line behind us, the rhythmic thrum of a helicopter’s rotor blades cut through the storm clouds.
