Chapter 5 - The Ambush
I stared down at Grace's lifeless body, my mind completely paralyzed by her final words.
If the silver-eyed child wasn't mine, whose bloodline was I currently dying to protect?
Another high-caliber bullet smashed into the shipping crate, raining rust down onto my shoulders.
"Roman, we have to move!" Clara screamed over the deafening roar of the storm.
I grabbed the detonator and shoved it deep into my pocket, keeping my finger wedged beneath the trigger guard.
I hoisted Mia into my arms, keeping the baby shielded against my chest.
"Follow me to the armored garage!" I yelled, laying down suppressing fire toward the sniper's perch.
We sprinted across the slippery wooden docks, dodging the deadly crossfire of Victoria's hidden mercenaries.
We reached the subterranean parking structure I kept exclusively for emergencies.
I threw open the heavy steel doors of a bulletproof, matte-black SUV.
I shoved Clara and the children into the backseat and jumped behind the steering wheel.
The massive V8 engine roared to life, and I smashed the vehicle through the closed garage gates.
We tore out onto the wet, empty streets of downtown Boston.
"Clara, tell me the truth right now," I demanded, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.
"Whose child is sitting in the back of my car?"
Clara looked out the reinforced window, her face pale and drawn.
"She belongs to Declan Vance, the head of the Irish syndicate," Clara confessed quietly.
"Victoria stole his newborn daughter and planted her in your house to frame you."
My knuckles turned completely white against the leather steering wheel.
"She wanted Declan to wipe out our entire family in a revenge war," I realized aloud.
"Yes," Clara said. "She wanted you dead without leaving any of her own fingerprints on the weapon."
Suddenly, a blinding set of red and blue police lights illuminated my rearview mirror.
Two Boston Police cruisers were tailgating me aggressively, their sirens wailing into the night.
I cursed under my breath and began to slow the heavy SUV toward the shoulder of the road.
"What are you doing?" Clara panicked, grabbing my seat.
"They're cops, Clara, I can buy them off," I assured her, rolling down my tinted window.
The lead officer stepped out of his cruiser into the pouring rain.
He walked up to my window, but he wasn't holding a ticket book or a flashlight.
May you like
He was holding a suppressed tactical submachine gun aimed directly at my face.
"Good evening, Mr. Duca," the corrupt officer smiled. "We've been expecting you."
