Chapter 7
The interior of the Boston compound was a labyrinth of luxury turned into a war zone. The distant, muffled pops of gunfire echoed from the front courtyard, filtered through the thick walls. Massimo propelled his wheelchair down the marble corridor with astonishing speed, his heavily tattooed arms working the wheels with brutal efficiency. Tessa ran closely behind him, her fitted navy uniform blending into the dim, tactical lighting.
They reached the security control room—a reinforced, steel-lined bunker situated in the core of the house. Silas punched in a code, and the heavy doors slid open. Inside, a bank of glowing monitors displayed the chaotic battle outside. Dozens of Massimo's men were exchanging fire with heavily armed intruders near the shattered front gates.
Massimo wheeled directly to the main console, dropping his handgun onto the desk. He grabbed the central radio microphone.
"Dante," Massimo’s voice boomed over the secure frequency, commanding and absolutely fearless. "Pincer movement. Take the sniper team to the east roof. They are funneling through the main driveway, funnel them into the kill zone."
Tessa stood in the corner of the room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She watched Massimo operate. He was entirely immobilized from the waist down, yet he controlled the entire battlefield with his mind. His sharp jawline was set, his dark eyes tracking six different camera feeds simultaneously. He barked orders, predicting the enemy's movements with ruthless, terrifying accuracy.
Suddenly, a violent muscle spasm hit Massimo. The adrenaline and stress caused his paralyzed legs to kick out violently, knocking his wheelchair backward away from the console. His face twisted in pain as a severe cramp seized his abdomen.
Tessa didn't hesitate. The gunfire outside vanished from her mind. She rushed forward, dropping to her knees in front of his wheelchair. She grabbed his legs, firmly holding them in place, applying deep, even pressure to his calves to break the neurological misfire causing the spasm.
Massimo gasped, gripping the armrests, his broad shoulders heaving. He looked down at the top of her messy bun as she worked efficiently, her hands strong and clinical.
"Breathe, Massimo," Tessa commanded calmly, looking up at him. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth. You have to regulate your central nervous system or your blood pressure is going to spike."
Massimo gritted his teeth, forcing himself to follow her rhythm. The intense, agonizing cramp slowly faded, the erratic signals in his damaged spinal cord settling down. He looked at her fair, rosy face, illuminated by the glow of the security monitors. In the middle of a mafia war, she was completely focused on his physical wellbeing.
"Boss," Dante's voice crackled over the radio. "East roof secured. The O'Connors are falling back. We have them pinned at the gate."
May you like
Massimo reached out, keeping one hand on the desk, while his other hand brushed lightly against Tessa’s shoulder. It was a rare, microscopic gesture of gratitude.
"Finish them," Massimo ordered into the radio.
