Chapter 9 - the bridge ambushed
The armored Suburban cut through the storm, tires hissing against the rain-slicked asphalt of the expressway.
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was dead silent. Mateo drove with both hands clamped to the wheel, his eyes scanning the rear-view mirrors every three seconds. In the back, Dominic sat beside Elena, his massive frame filling the leather seat.
Elena pulled her plain wool coat tighter around her chest, looking out at the blurry neon lights of the city skyline.
"You're shaking," Dominic noted without looking at her.
"I've spent seven years running from your family, Mr. Vercelli," Elena murmured, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves. "Now I'm sitting in an armored truck surrounded by your guns, heading toward the only proof of who I am. If this box is empty... I know what happens to people who waste your time."
Dominic turned his head toward her. In the dim amber glow of the dashboard, his rugged face looked carved from granite, but his eyes were remarkably soft.
"You gave me my mother’s handwriting," Dominic said. "You gave me the star. Even if that box has nothing but dust, you walk away alive. I give you my word on my father’s grave."
"Your father’s grave didn't protect my mother," Elena replied softly, not out of malice, but from a lifetime of learned survival.
Dominic didn't argue. He understood the bitter truth in her words better than anyone alive.
Suddenly, Mateo’s body tensed. "Boss. Two black Dodge Rams behind us. No plates. They came up fast from the industrial exit."
Dominic immediately reached into the compartment beside his seat, pulling out a heavy black automatic pistol and racking the slide with a clean, metallic *clack*. "Stay on the center lane. Don't let them box us in."
"They're speeding up," Mateo said, slamming his foot on the accelerator.
The Suburban surged forward, its powerful V8 engine roaring. But as they crested the approach to the Queensboro Bridge, a heavy commercial flatbed truck suddenly swung out from the right shoulder, blocking two of the three lanes ahead.
"It's a trap!" Mateo yelled, swerving hard to the left.
*Crack! Crack-crack!*
High-caliber rifle fire shattered the side mirrors of the Suburban. The armored glass on Elena’s side spider-webbed into a dense white pattern as heavy bullets impacted against the reinforced laminate. Elena gasped, ducking down toward the floorboards.
Dominic’s arm moved instinctively, throwing his massive body across hers to shield her from the windows. "Keep your head down!"
The Suburban slammed sideways into the concrete divider with a sickening crunch of metal. Sparks showered across the hood. Behind them, the two black pickups closed in, boxing their rear bumper.
Mateo threw the transmission into reverse, smashing the Suburban’s heavy steel reinforcement into the grille of the lead pickup with bone-rattling force. The radiator of the chase vehicle exploded in a cloud of white steam.
"Mateo, punch through the truck's rear!" Dominic roared, rolling down his window three inches and firing four rapid, disciplined shots through the opening.
The driver of the second pickup slumped forward over his steering wheel, his horn blaring continuously as the truck veered wildly into the bridge railing.
Mateo swung the Suburban hard to the right, tires smoking, and squeezed through the narrow gap between the flatbed truck and the guardrail, scraping the entire passenger side with a deafening screech of ripping metal.
Two miles later, the sirens of responding police cruisers echoed in the distance behind them, but the bridge was clear ahead.
Elena sat back up, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands were trembling, but she hadn't screamed. She looked at Dominic, whose tuxedo shoulder was covered in glass dust and concrete powder.
"Those weren't Falcone shooters," Mateo said, checking his mirrors as they descended into Manhattan. "Falcones use automatic Uzis and drive black Cadillacs. Those were ex-military contractors. The same private security firm Julian used for the port terminals."
Dominic’s jaw twitched. "Vivienne is locked in the cellar. Who authorized the contractors?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.
Only one other person on the estate knew they were heading to the 5th Avenue vault. Only one person had tried to stop them from leaving.
"Vincent," Elena whispered.
Dominic didn't answer, but his dark eyes burned with an icy, lethal fire that promised absolute devastation.
May you like
He slid his gun back into his holster and looked out the windshield as the grand limestone facade of the Manhattan Trust building loomed through the rain ahead.
"Mateo," Dominic said, his voice flat and terrifying. "Call the bank manager. Tell him he has five minutes to unlock the basement vault, or I will blow the doors off with C4."
