Chapter 13 - The Road to Babylon
Gunsmoke hung heavy in the mountain cabin as the last echoes of the violent firefight died away.
Four Commission mercenaries lay motionless on our front lawn, their tactical gear bearing the silver insignia of the Manhattan High Commission—an uncoiled serpent wrapping around a balance scale. Matteo knelt beside the team leader's body, methodically searching the pockets until he retrieved an encrypted satellite transceiver and a black VIP pass to an exclusive private members' club in downtown Manhattan.
Beatrice was in the hallway, her hands steady despite the blood staining her knuckles as she finished wrapping a field bandage around a shrapnel graze on Lily's shoulder. Lily wasn't crying; she had her mother's terrifying resilience, clutching a stuffed bear tightly while watching us with wide, observant eyes.
I loaded spare magazines into a duffel bag, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. I looked at Beatrice and told her I was going to wire enough offshore funds to buy her and Lily safe passage to South America under completely untraceable identities. I told her I would not drag her back into the burning furnace of my family's sins.
Beatrice walked directly up to me, grabbed the lapels of my leather jacket, and stared dead into my eyes with an intensity that silenced the room. She told me that running was a fantasy created by cowards. Marco Moretti owned airports, ports, and border crossings; the moment we separated, Lily and she would be picked up like stray lambs to be used as leverage against me. She declared that we were a family now, and families stood together when the wolves came knocking.
May you like
Matteo nodded in grim agreement from the doorway. He told me that Marco's greatest strength was his complete isolation behind layers of corporate shell companies, bought politicians, and private armies. The only way to kill a ghost who sits on an empire of glass was to strike at the center of his web before he expected us to arrive.
Within an hour, our mountain home was reduced to a carefully controlled blaze, burning every scrap of forensic evidence and DNA that could confirm our survival. As the smoke rose into the Montana twilight, we were already speeding eastward in an unregistered vehicle, heading straight into the belly of the beast.
