Chapter 8 - The Siege
Adrian snatched the radio from Silas’s belt and turned it off.
His brief moment of vulnerability vanished, replaced by the ruthless mafia boss.
"Fifty men," I whispered, the terror returning.
"We can't fight fifty men."
Adrian pulled me to my feet and lifted Nora into his left arm.
"We don't fight them," he said, handing me his handgun.
"We run."
He led us to the back of the bunker and pushed aside a heavy metal shelving unit.
Behind it was a dark, narrow tunnel carved out of dirt and stone.
"This leads to the old carriage house at the edge of the property," Adrian explained.
"My grandfather built it during prohibition."
He pushed me inside and followed, pulling the heavy shelves back into place just as we heard footsteps storming down the stairs toward the bunker.
The tunnel was pitch black and smelled like damp earth.
Adrian clicked on a small penlight, guiding us through the cramped space.
Above us, I could hear the muffled sounds of gunfire and shouting.
The Moretti cartel was tearing the mansion apart looking for us.
"When we get to the carriage house, there is a black SUV," Adrian whispered as we hurried along.
"Keys are in the visor. You take Nora and you drive."
"What about you?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"I am going to buy you time," he said grimly.
I grabbed his arm, stopping him in the dark tunnel.
"You can't hold off fifty men alone, Adrian. You'll die."
He looked down at me, the faint light illuminating the sharp lines of his face.
"James died because I couldn't protect him," Adrian said softly.
"I will not fail him again."
We reached a wooden ladder at the end of the tunnel.
Adrian climbed up first, pushing open a hidden trapdoor.
We climbed up into the dusty, abandoned carriage house.
True to his word, a massive black SUV sat in the center of the room.
Adrian opened the driver's side door and helped me inside.
He placed Nora in the backseat and buckled her in.
"Go to the safehouse in Vermont," Adrian ordered, handing me a slip of paper with coordinates.
Suddenly, the wooden doors of the carriage house exploded inward.
Splinters of wood showered over the hood of the SUV.
Floodlights blinded us as heavily armed men poured into the building.
Standing in the center of the gunmen was an older man in a pristine white suit.
May you like
Don Moretti smiled at us, leaning heavily on a gold-tipped cane.
"Going somewhere, Adrian?" Moretti asked pleasantly.
