Chapter 7 - The Bloodline Ledger
The realization that the Federal Task Force was leading the assault shattered whatever remaining order existed within the room.
Vincent didn't waste a millisecond. He lunged across the overturned desk, ignoring the stray rounds ricocheting off the concrete walls, and tackled Julian before the traitor could drag Elena and Noah through the balcony breach.
The two men crashed violently onto the shattered glass covering the rug. Julian dropped his weapon, scrambling to reach his tactical blade, but Vincent’s massive, calloused hand clamped around Julian’s throat like a vice, slamming his head against the hardwood floor with terrifying force.
Julian went limp instantly, the portable biometric scanner slipping from his hand and rolling across the floor.
"Marcus! Can you stand?!" Vincent barked, pulling Elena and Noah back into the shelter of the desk.
Marcus groaned, pushing himself up against the wood, holding his blood-stained chest where his tactical armor had absorbed the kinetic impact of Julian’s shots. "I'm breathing, Boss... armor held."
"Take Dominic and the remaining men," Vincent commanded, retrieving the portable scanner from the floor. "Evacuate through the private elevator shaft. I will take Elena and the boy through the founder's tunnel."
"Boss... the feds have the street perimeter locked down!" Marcus warned, reloading his sidearm with a crisp click.
"They have the streets, Marcus," Vincent said, his eyes blazing in the red emergency light. "They don't have the foundation."
Vincent grabbed Elena's hand, ushering her toward the rear corner of the office where a heavy steel service door sat hidden behind a decorative tapestry. He punched an eight-digit code into a concealed keypad, and the heavy door unlatched with a loud mechanical hiss.
Inside lay a narrow, damp concrete stairwell descending deep into the bedrock beneath the tower.
"Go! Down!" Vincent ordered, pushing Elena ahead while keeping his weapon aimed up at the office entrance where secondary breacher charges were beginning to detonate against the main doors.
They sprinted down the winding stairwell, the heavy thrum of their footsteps echoing through the cold concrete shaft. Noah held tight to his mother’s neck, his small thumb tucked into his mouth, his stuffed rabbit dangling over her shoulder.
After descending six flights, they reached a massive, reinforced iron door marked with an old, rusted family crest—the raven coiled around an anchor.
Elena panted heavily, her hair disheveled, her fair skin smeared with soot and sweat. "Mr. Caruso... where does this lead?"
"To the original cathedral foundation beneath Pier 4," Vincent explained, pulling a heavy brass key from his suit vest and inserting it into the antique lock. "Built in 1920 by your grandfather. It's the only tunnel in the city that isn't mapped on federal blueprints."
He turned the key. The massive iron lock groaned as rusted tumblers shifted inside.
Before Vincent could push the heavy door open, a sharp metallic click echoed from the dark stairwell above them.
May you like
Standing on the landing three steps up, holding a suppressed submachine gun aimed directly at Noah’s head, was Paul—the quietest of Vincent's four remaining associates.
Paul’s fair face was entirely devoid of emotion. "Step away from the iron door, Vincent."
