Chapter 8 - The Cost of Loyalty
The blast threw me forward, but Dominic caught me before I hit the floor, spinning us both behind the heavy oak desk as plaster and glass showered down from the shattered skylights above.
“Perimeter breached!” a voice screamed through the tactical radio on Marco’s chest, followed immediately by the staccato rip of automatic gunfire from the ground floor. “They’re inside the bay! They bypassed the exterior sensors—they had the bypass codes!”
“Richard,” I gasped, clutching Dominic’s tactical vest in the dark. “Richard knew the restaurant security protocols, and he handled the logistics for the catering events Dominic hosted at the safehouses!”
Dominic didn’t curse. He didn’t shout. His tactical training took over with cold, terrifying precision. He clicked on a low-lumen red weapon light mounted to his carbine, cutting through the swirling dust.
“Marco! Take the rear fire escape with Miss Henderson. Get her to the launch on the water!”
“No, Boss!” Marco yelled, raising his sidearm toward the stairwell as heavy boots pounded up the iron steps. “I’m not leaving you!”
“That is an order!” Dominic roared, pushing me toward Marco. “If she dies, everything we fight for means nothing! Get her to the boat!”
The heavy fire door leading to the upper command floor blew inward with a deafening bang. Three men in gray tactical gear and balaclavas burst through the doorway, weapons raised.
Dominic didn’t hesitate. He leaned out from behind the mahogany desk, his carbine barking three times in rapid succession. The first two men dropped instantly, their momentum carrying them face-first onto the concrete. The third shooter dove behind a metal filing cabinet, spraying the room with 9mm rounds that shredded the monitors and sent electrical sparks raining like fireflies.
Marco grabbed my arm, pulling me toward a narrow service ladder at the back of the room that led down into the boathouse beneath the warehouse piers.
“Down, Chloe! Climb!” Marco barked.
I grabbed the rungs of the iron ladder, swinging my legs down into the darkness. Below, the black waters of the harbor churned against the wooden pilings, illuminated only by the faint green running lights of a twin-engine offshore speedboat.
Above me, gunfire erupted with deafening intensity.
I looked up through the square hatch. Dominic was pinned behind the ruined desk. Through the door, four more armed men were advancing, their laser sights painting the walls in crimson crisscrosses. And behind them, stepping through the ruined entryway with a smug, mocking sneer, was Richard.
My former restaurant manager.
He was wearing an expensive trench coat, holding a silenced pistol, his face twisted in petty, triumphant malice.
“Come out, Dominic!” Richard sneered over the sound of gunfire. “Vincent paid me half a million dollars to give up this location! You treated me like a glorified servant for five years, and now you’re going to die in a rat’s nest!”
Dominic’s carbine clicked empty. He dropped the long gun, reaching for his sidearm, but a burst of fire tore across the front of the desk, pinning him down. One of the gunmen was circling wide to flank him, his weapon leveled directly at Dominic’s exposed back.
I couldn’t let it happen.
I scrambled back up the ladder.
“Chloe, what the hell are you doing?!” Marco screamed from below.
I ignored him. I pulled myself through the hatch, my hands slipping on the gritty concrete. On the floor three feet away lay the dropped pistol of the first gunman Dominic had neutralized.
I had never fired a gun in my life. I had never held one. But in that split second, I didn't see an underworld war. I didn't see mafia bosses or hitmen. I only saw the man who had looked at my unpaid bills with respect, who had held my trembling hand in an ambulance, who had shielded my body with his own flesh in the ballroom.
I lunged forward, grabbed the heavy black handgun with both hands, and raised it toward the man flanking Dominic.
“Get away from him!” I screamed.
The gunman turned, startled by the voice of an unarmed waitress in a torn green dress. That half-second of surprise was all I needed. I pulled the heavy trigger.
The gun kicked violently in my hands, the deafening report echoing off the brick walls like a cannon shot. The bullet went wide of his chest, striking the heavy industrial fire extinguisher mounted on the brick wall directly beside his head.
The pressurized tank exploded with a tremendous, deafening roar, unleashing a blinding wall of pressurized chemical fog and shrapnel.
The flanking gunman was thrown off his feet, screaming as the chemical cloud blinded him.
Taking advantage of the total chaos, Dominic broke from cover. He crossed the distance like a panther, his combat knife flashing in the red emergency light. In three brutal, terrifying movements, the remaining two assault shooters fell silent.
Richard froze in the doorway, the sneer vanishing from his face, replaced by sheer, petrifying terror. He dropped his silenced pistol, his hands shooting into the air as the chemical smoke cleared.
Dominic stood over the bodies of the fallen men, his chest heaving, his face covered in soot and blood. He didn't look at Richard.
He looked at me.
I was still on my knees, the heavy pistol shaking violently in my blistered hands, smoke curling from the barrel. My ears were ringing, and my breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps.
Dominic walked toward me. He didn't take the gun from my hands roughly. He knelt down in front of me, placing his large, warm hands over mine, gently easing my white-knuckled fingers off the grip. He set the weapon aside on the concrete floor, then reached out and gathered me against his chest.
I buried my face in the crook of his neck, shaking uncontrollably as his arms wrapped around me, tight and unbreakable.
“You’re safe,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I have you, Chloe. You’re safe.”
“I tried to shoot him,” I sobbed against his neck. “I tried to—”
“You saved my life,” he said, his hand cradling the back of my head, holding me close against the thunderous beat of his heart. “Twice now, you have stood between me and death. No one has ever done that for me. No one.”
Dominic stood, lifting me effortlessly to my feet. He kept one arm firmly around my waist as he turned to face Richard, who was trembling violently against the ruined doorway, his knees knocking together in pathetic terror.
“Dominic… please,” Richard whimpered, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks. “Vincent forced me! He said he’d kill my family if I didn't give him the safehouse codes! You know me, Dominic—I’ve been loyal to you for years!”
Dominic looked at the man with cold, bottomless disgust.
“You fired a girl who had eighty-three dollars to her name because she showed mercy to a dying man,” Dominic said, each word dripping like venom. “You blacklisted her from every restaurant in this city to cover your own treason. And then you sold my coordinates to foreign butchers.”
“Please!” Richard begged, dropping to his knees.
Dominic didn't draw a weapon. He looked at Marco, who had climbed back up through the hatch, his tactical rifle ready.
“Lock him in the cargo hold of the launch,” Dominic ordered quietly. “He will tell us the exact entry codes for Pier 44. And when this night is over, he will face the justice he earned.”
Dominic turned back to me, his dark eyes searching mine with fierce devotion.
May you like
“Vincent thinks he trapped us here,” Dominic said, his jaw tightening with absolute resolve. “He thinks we’re running. But we aren’t running, Chloe. We’re going to Pier 44. And before the sun rises over Boston, I am going to end this war.”
***
