Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Warehouse
Step back from the girl, Paulie, Gabe said, his voice dropping an octave into an authoritative register that made the men behind Paulie hesitate. You know who I am. You know who pays your salary.
Sal pays the checks now, Gabe, Paulie sneered, cocking his shotgun with a loud, aggressive clatter. He has for fourteen years. He told us if you were with the old shoemaker, you were compromised. Bring the kid, shoot the old man, and bring Gabe back in zipties. That's the order from the boss.
Marcus fired before Paulie could raise the barrel.
The suppressed crack of Marcus's rifle shattered the silence of the church. Paulie spun as a round caught him in the shoulder, tumbling backward into the vestibule. Gunfire erupted instantly, shredding the wooden pews and blowing the stained glass windows into shimmering showers of colored crystal.
Down! Gabe roared, grabbing Nora by the collar of her oversized coat and throwing his broad body over her and Arthur beneath the solid oak altar.
Tommy, who had been guarding the perimeter outside, drove the town car directly into the church's side garden entrance, the heavy bumper smashing through the reinforced side doors to create an immediate barrier against the attackers. The blare of the car horn disoriented the shooters.
Through the back sacristy! Gabe ordered Marcus, lifting Nora effortlessly under one arm while Marcus hauled Arthur by his coat harness.
Nora didn't shriek. She wrapped her small arms tight around Gabe's neck, her cheek pressed against his wool lapel. She could hear the heavy, rhythmic pounding of his heart—a calm, terrifying beat of pure survival.
They burst through the rear rectory doors into the snow-choked alley. Tommy was already reversing down the narrow lane, spinning the wheel to broadside the pursuers' vehicles and pinning two of Sal’s men against an iron dumpster.
Get in! Tommy shouted through the shattered driver's window.
Gabe shoved Arthur and Nora onto the floorboards of the back seat, diving in after them as bullets ricocheted off the trunk and shattered the rear glass. Marcus leaped into the front passenger seat, returning fire with measured, deadly precision through the broken side window until the vehicle cleared the alley and merged onto the interstate heading north.
Arthur was coughing violently, blood flecking his cracked lips. Nora wiped his mouth with her flannel shoe rag, her tiny hands trembling for the first time. Grandpa, stay awake. Please. Look at the snow. Look how pretty the snow is.
I'm here, birdy... I'm here, Arthur wheezed, his fingers weakly curling around hers.
Gabe pulled his phone from his breast pocket and dialed a secure satellite line. The receiver clicked on the second ring.
Leo, Gabe spoke directly. Assemble the Council of Five. Tell them the Santoro bloodline demands an emergency tribunal at the Drake Hotel ballroom at midnight. If they refuse, tell them I have Enzo's original ledger and the port contracts.
Boss, Leo’s voice sounded tense through the speaker. Sal has already declared you rogue. He told the council you suffered a mental break after canceling dinner and murdered three of his security men.
Tell them to bring their bodyguards, Gabe replied evenly. Tell them if they don't show, they are siding with the man who executed Enzo Santoro. And Leo—call the city’s best pediatric unit and pulmonologist to the penthouse suite at the Drake. We have guests.
Gabe hung up and looked at Nora. Her mustard scarf was ruined with soot, her face pale with fear, yet she held her cigar box securely between her knees.
Why do you keep that box so tight, Nora? Gabe asked softly, leaning down to meet her gaze.
It has my bread, she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. And Grandpa's heart pills. He missed his afternoon dose because we had to find someone with good shoes.
May you like
Gabe reached out with his bare hand, ignoring the blood and gunpowder on his skin, and gently tucked a stray braid behind her ear.
You never have to shine another pair of shoes again, Nora, Gabe swore, his tone as binding as an iron oath. From tonight on, you eat at my table. And anyone who tries to take your bread will answer to me.
