Chapter 4 - The Shadow in Boston
"Down!" Victor barked, grabbing the metal canister and throwing his broad frame over the oak chest as automatic rounds shredded the wooden pews of the chapel.
Marcus drew his suppressed sidearm, rolling behind a solid marble pillar and returning fire through the broken window frame. "Perimeter team! We have a breach at the chapel entrance!" Marcus shouted into his radio.
Static crackled back through the receiver: "Boss! Falcone’s strike team just arrived in three armored vans! They're trying to pin us inside!"
Victor didn't panic. He pulled his heavy sidearm from his coat, firing three controlled shots through the shattered window that dropped two breachers on the stone steps outside.
"Move to the rear catacombs!" Victor ordered Marcus.
They sprinted down the narrow stone corridor behind the altar, descending into the dark subterranean tunnels built beneath the chapel. They emerged into a secluded alleyway three blocks away, where a secondary security vehicle was waiting.
Ten minutes later, Victor was sitting in the rear seat of the armored vehicle as it sped down the rainy highway toward Boston.
He pulled out his satellite phone, dialing his private intelligence chief in Massachusetts.
"Find the exact location of Don Falcone’s private estate in Boston," Victor commanded flatly. "And assemble twenty of our elite vanguard."
By five o'clock in the morning, the rain had stopped, leaving a cold, misty dawn over the rolling hills of Boston.
Victor’s tactical convoy arrived at the perimeter of a massive gray-stone estate surrounded by high wrought-iron fences and security cameras.
Victor looked through high-powered binoculars at the upper balcony of the estate. Standing near a stone pillar was an eight-year-old boy dressed in a neat dark suit. The boy had dark wavy hair, fair rosy skin, and the exact, unmistakable facial structure of Ellie.
It was Leo.
Beside the boy stood Don Falcone himself—a sharp-faced, sixty-year-old crime boss with graying hair, holding a cane as he looked down at the grounds.
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Victor’s jaw set like iron. His dark eyes burned with an unyielding, fierce protective fire.
"He has my son, Marcus," Victor whispered softly, his voice sharp as steel. "We breach the gates now."
