Chapter 36 - BLOOD BEFORE BROTHERHOOD
The tunnel was narrow, carved from rough schist and brick over a century ago during the Prohibition era. Elena clicked on a small tactical penlight, its thin white beam cutting through the damp mist rising from the wet stones beneath our feet.
“Keep moving, Sarah,” Elena urged, her voice trembling slightly, though her stride was fast and purposeful. “Do not look back. Don't listen to the shots.”
It was impossible not to listen. Even through six inches of hardened steel and tons of earth, the rhythmic, thunderous vibrations of heavy caliber fire shuddered through the rock walls. Vincent was waging a one-man war in the darkness of the wine cellar, buying us every precious second with his own blood.
Hope began to stir again, letting out soft, frightened gasps. I pressed her face against the crook of my neck, whispering nonsensical lullabies, humming the melody Daniel used to play on the old upright piano in our tiny apartment before the nightmare began.
“How far is the boathouse?” I whispered, my boots splashing through icy trickles of runoff water that pooled along the tunnel floor.
“Two hundred yards,” Elena answered, keeping her weapon pointed forward, sweeping the shadows. “The tunnel exits into a submerged maintenance dock below the coastal bluffs. If Daniel’s boat is still fueled, we can reach the Long Island sound within twenty minutes. Salvatore’s men have radar on the roads, but the water is choppy tonight—a low-profile hull can slip beneath their thermal sweeps.”
We rounded a sharp curve in the tunnel, and the air suddenly turned saline and freezing. Up ahead, a heavy wooden hatch was visible, reinforced with rusted iron bands. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the timbers, dancing on the black, surging surface of the water below.
Elena reached the hatch first, slipping the heavy oak crossbar aside with a grunt of effort. She pushed the door open.
The sudden roar of the Atlantic surf crashing against the rocky base of the estate bluffs filled our ears. Below us, tied to heavy rubber pylons inside a hidden sea cave, sat a sleek, thirty-five-foot midnight-black offshore interceptor boat. It looked like a phantom waiting in the shadows, completely invisible from the cliffs above.
“Get in!” Elena instructed, scrambling down the metal ladder bolted to the cave wall.
I followed carefully, clutching Hope with one arm while my boots searched blindly for the slippery rungs. My foot slipped on the second-to-last step, a jolt of panic seizing my heart, but Elena caught me by the waist, steadying us as we tumbled onto the padded deck of the boat.
Elena lunged for the center console, ripping open the hidden compartment beneath the throttle levers. Daniel’s mechanical key was already in her hand. She slammed it into the ignition port and twisted.
The dual marine diesel engines groaned, sputtered once, and then roared to life with a deep, muffled rumble that vibrated through the hull.
“Cast off the bowline!” Elena shouted over the engine noise, pointing to the thick hemp rope securing the front to the pylon.
I scrambled forward, untying the knot with freezing, numb fingers. As the rope fell into the water, a sharp, metallic ping ricocheted off the boat’s fiberglass windshield.
A spiderweb of shattered safety glass bloomed inches from Elena’s head.
“Sniper!” Elena screamed, diving behind the reinforced helm console.
High above us, on the jagged rocks framing the cave entrance, a red laser sight pierced the darkness, wavering across the deck, searching for a target. It found me. The red dot settled squarely on the center of the dark green cashmere blanket swaddling Hope.
Time stopped.
I threw myself backward, curling my spine around my baby just as a heavy rifle round tore through the boat’s leather upholstery an inch from my hip.
“Elena, go!” I screamed.
Elena slammed both throttles forward. The interceptor boat surged violently, its twin propellers biting into the dark sea water, launching the vessel out of the mouth of the cave like an arrow shot from a bow.
A hail of high-caliber rounds peppered the water around us, throwing up white plumes of spray. The boat slammed down hard against the first rolling ocean swell, the impact sending a jarring shockwave through my spine, but the low-profile hull cut through the waves at terrifying speed, rapidly pulling us away from the lethal shoreline.
I looked back.
High up on the cliffside, the Moretti estate was burning. Thick columns of black smoke billowed into the night sky, illuminated by orange tongues of fire licking out of the grand hall’s shattered windows. Distant flashes of gunfire still flickered from the lower terraces like dying fireflies.
“Vincent...” I choked, tears stinging my wind-burned eyes as the cold sea spray soaked my clothes.
May you like
Elena didn't look back. Her knuckles were white against the steering wheel, her jaw set in an expression of pure, unadulterated grief and iron determination.
“He told us to run, Sarah,” she said, her voice cracking as a single tear escaped and was instantly whipped away by the freezing ocean wind. “If we die now, his sacrifice means nothing. We reach Vermont. We survive. And then we make Salvatore pay for every drop of blood he spilled tonight.”
