Chapter 6 - Blood on the Cobblestones
The snow was coming down heavier now, turning the cobblestone alleys of the North End into a treacherous white sheet stained with crimson.
Dominic moved through the shadows of the tenement stairwell like a ghost, his weapon spitting silent fire at every tactical silhouette that tried to push past the second-floor landing. Two more armored men crashed down the stairs, their weapons clattering against the concrete.
But there were too many.
As Dominic backed out through the rear exit into the narrow alleyway behind Charter Street, a blinding beam of a tactical flashlight pinned him against the brick wall.
“Drop the weapon, Vale! Federal custody! Hands behind your head!” shouted a harsh voice from behind a riot shield.
Dominic didn't drop his weapon. Instead, he fired a precise round into the generator box mounted on the brick wall beside them.
Spark!
A shower of blinding white electrical sparks exploded across the alley, plunging the courtyard into sudden, chaotic darkness amid a hail of severed wires and roaring alarms.
Out of the shadows, a black town car slammed to a halt against the snowdrift, its tires throwing up slush. The rear door flew open. Leo Santoro leaned out, firing a suppressed submachine gun to cover the exit, while Maribel and Annie were already bundled safely inside the back seat.
“Get in, Boss!” Leo roared over the gunfire.
Dominic dived through the open door just as a volley of rifle rounds punched through the car’s rear quarter panel. The vehicle surged forward, tearing out of the alley and fishtailing onto Commercial Street toward the harbor docks.
In the back seat, Maribel held Annie tightly against her chest, her hands trembling as she checked her daughter over for injuries.
“Are you okay, baby?” Maribel whispered, kissing the top of Annie’s head.
“I’m okay, Mommy,” Annie whispered back, her gray-green eyes wide and brave. She looked across the seat at Dominic, who was reloading his magazine with blood-smeared fingers. “You shoot like a superhero.”
A faint, strained smile touched Dominic’s lips. He reached across the seat and gently touched the little girl’s red-brown braid.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Dominic said, looking up at Leo through the rearview mirror. “Where are we heading?”
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“The old North End Customs House warehouse on Pier 4,” Leo said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “It’s fortified, it’s secure, and nobody knows we’re there except us.”
“Good,” Dominic said, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “Because it’s time to find out who signed our death warrant four years ago.”
