Chapter 5 - Marked for Danger
Rain fell in blinding sheets, soaking Elena to the skin within seconds as she sprinted down the long, winding asphalt driveway of the estate. The wind whipped her dark hair across her eyes, freezing her cheeks and numbing her fingers.
She pounded her fists against the reinforced glass window of the security gatehouse.
Inside, two guards in dark tactical uniforms jumped to their feet, their hands dropping instantly to their sidearms. When the lead guard, a burly man named Frank, recognized her through the rain-streaked glass, he cracked the door open.
“Elena? What the hell are you doing out here in this storm? You’re soaked!”
Elena grabbed his forearm, her breathing ragged, her teeth chattering violently. “Frank! You have to call Mr. Moretti right now! Get him on the radio!”
Frank frowned, exchanging a bewildered glance with his partner. “Mr. Moretti is in transit to a private operational meeting. We aren’t authorized to patch calls through unless the estate is under physical attack.”
“The estate isn't under attack, he is!” Elena screamed over the roar of the thunder. “Richard Bennett set him up! Pier 42 is an ambush! Federal agents and Romano hitmen are waiting for him at four in the morning! They’re going to kill him!”
Frank’s face hardened instantly. The skepticism in his eyes vanished, replaced by the razor-sharp vigilance of a trained soldier. He knew Elena was the girl Dante had defended earlier that day. He knew she wouldn't fabricate something this specific.
Frank grabbed his tactical radio, switching to an encrypted priority frequency. “Command One to Alpha Leader. Priority Red. Do you copy? Alpha Leader, come in!”
Static hissed over the speaker. Nothing.
“The storm’s scrambling the relay tower near the river,” the second guard cursed, tapping furiously on a computer console. “Cell towers are down along the industrial strip on the Hudson.”
“Then drive me there!” Elena pleaded, grabbing Frank’s tactical vest. “Please, Frank! If he walks into that warehouse, he’s dead!”
Frank stared at her, seeing the absolute, unyielding terror and conviction in her eyes. He reached behind the door, grabbed the keys to a black, armored Chevrolet Suburban, and strapped on his tactical jacket.
“Get in,” Frank barked.
The heavy SUV roared to life, tearing through the iron gates and fishtailing onto the slick, winding county road. Frank drove with terrifying speed, the windshield wipers struggling against the deluge of rain. Next to him, Elena held onto the dashboard, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
*Hold on, Dante,* she prayed silently into the dark. *Please, just hold on.*
It took thirty-five agonizing minutes to reach the industrial outskirts of Manhattan. The Hudson River looked like a churning monster of black ink under the stormy sky. Long rows of rusted shipping containers towered like iron monoliths against the fog.
Pier 42 was dark. Too dark.
Usually, active freight terminals were lit by blinding halogen floodlights. Tonight, the main terminal lights were completely shut off. Only the distant red beacon of a river barge blinked through the mist.
Frank killed the SUV’s headlights half a mile before the main gate, coasting into an alley between two derelict warehouses.
“Stay in the vehicle, Elena,” Frank ordered, drawing a suppressed Glock from his holster. “I mean it. If things go bad, you lock these doors and you hit the emergency tracker on the console.”
“Look!” Elena pointed through the rain-streaked windshield.
Three black sedans were parked near the entrance of Warehouse 7. Near the shadows of the water dock, Elena could see several figures in dark tactical gear moving silently, rifles raised, taking positions around the loading bays.
They weren't federal agents. Federal agents wore raid jackets and announced their warrants.
These men moved like assassins.
Suddenly, the unmistakable rumble of a modified V8 engine echoed from the access road. Dante’s matte-black Maybach swept around the corner, flanked by two security chase cars.
“He’s driving straight into the crossfire!” Elena cried out.
“Frank, they’ve got high-powered rifles on the catwalks!”
Before Frank could stop her, Elena slammed her shoulder against the passenger door, unlocked it, and threw herself out into the torrential rain.
“Elena! No!” Frank roared, bolting after her.
Elena ran across the wet, oil-slicked asphalt, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Dante! Stop! It’s a trap! DANTE!”
Her voice was almost swallowed by the roaring wind, but her bright silhouette cutting across the open tarmac drew every eye.
A red laser dot suddenly danced across Elena’s chest.
From the roof of Warehouse 7, a sniper opened fire.
The first bullet pinged off the concrete three inches from Elena’s boot, sending sparks and stone shrapnel biting into her shin. She stumbled, falling hard onto her hands and knees on the freezing asphalt.
The Maybach’s brakes screeched violently, smoke rising from the tires as the heavy armored car spun sideways, putting its reinforced steel body directly between Elena and the sniper’s line of fire.
The driver’s door flew open.
Dante Moretti exploded out of the vehicle.
He didn’t take cover. He didn't duck. With a semi-automatic rifle in his grip, he stepped directly into the open, firing three deafening bursts toward the rooftop catwalk. The sniper collapsed over the railing, tumbling fifty feet into the murky river below.
Gunfire erupted from all sides—the sharp, deafening chatter of assault rifles echoing across the industrial pier.
Dante ignored the bullets ricocheting off the armored chassis of his car. He sprinted toward Elena, scooped her up off the ground with one massive arm, and hauled her behind the protective bulk of the Maybach.
He slammed her against the vehicle’s interior leather seat, slamming the door shut with a heavy thud.
He was breathing heavily, his white shirt soaked with rain and blackened with gunpowder residue. He grabbed her face with both hands, his fingers trembling with a fury and fear she had never seen in him before.
“What are you doing here?!” he roared over the sound of automatic fire rattling against the bulletproof glass. “Are you out of your mind, Elena?!”
“Bennett!” she gasped, clutching his soaking lapels, her voice breaking into sobs of pure relief. “Bennett set you up! The containers... narcotics... the feds are coming, Dante! He paid the Romano family to kill you tonight!”
Dante froze. His dark eyes scanned her face, seeing the cuts on her hands, the blood seeping through her torn pants, and the absolute, unselfish devotion burning in her tear-stained eyes.
She hadn't run to save herself. She had run into a warzone to keep him alive.
A bullet cracked against the reinforced window right beside Dante’s head, spider-webbing the thick glass.
Dante didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled Elena into his chest, wrapping his arms around her with bone-crushing strength, burying his face into her wet hair.
May you like
“You’re safe now,” he whispered fiercely against her ear, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear to you on my life, Elena, nobody will ever touch you again.”
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