Chapter 8 - The Price of Blood and Brotherhood
The echoes of automatic gunfire inside the cathedral were deafening, reverberating off the stone arches and raining pulverized plaster down upon the pews. The air instantly filled with the acrid stench of cordite, suffocating the sweet scent of frankincense.
I crouched behind the thick oak kneeler, my arms locked tightly around Leo. He didn't cry. His small fingers dug into the wool of my emerald coat, his face pressed against the curve of my neck, trusting me completely to be his shield. My stitches burned and pulled against my ribs, but the pain felt distant, drowned out by pure adrenaline.
Above us, Gabriel was a force of calculated destruction.
He didn't spray bullets wildly. He moved with cold, military precision, firing three controlled pairs. Through the gaps in the overturned furniture, I saw two of Dante’s mercenaries collapse onto the center aisle, their weapons clattering uselessly against the stone.
Don Vincenzo’s personal guards opened fire from the south transept, cutting off the remaining two shooters before they could advance past the baptismal font. Within forty seconds, the violent ambush was crushed, leaving four bodies sprawled in pools of dark blood across the sacred aisle.
"Clear!" Mikhail barked through a broken, bleeding nose, his pistol raised as he swept the side chapels. "The perimeter is secure!"
Gabriel lowered his weapon, his breath coming in steady, measured rhythms. He didn't look at the carnage. He immediately dropped to one knee behind the kneeler, his large hands reaching down to pull Leo and me into the circle of his arms.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his eyes scanning my coat, checking for crimson stains. "Tess, look at me. Did a round graze you?"
"I'm fine," I gasped, my voice shaking as I touched his cheek. "Leo is safe. We're both fine."
Gabriel closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting out a ragged breath against my hair. When he opened them, the cold fury that returned was terrifying to behold.
He looked toward the north transept doors. They stood slightly ajar, fresh snow blowing through the opening. Dante had escaped during the firefight.
Don Vincenzo stepped forward from beneath the pulpit, his silver-topped cane clicking against the bloody flagstones. His old face was carved from stone, his knuckles white around the handle.
"Dante Moretti broke sanctuary," Vincenzo declared, his voice trembling with ancestral rage. "He shed blood in St. Jude’s. He attempted to murder the Commission and the bloodline of Marco Moretti."
The old man turned to the remaining elders of the five families, who were rising from the pews with drawn weapons and furious eyes.
"By the authority of the Five Families," Vincenzo announced, pointing his cane toward the open transept door, "Dante Moretti is declared anathema. He has no name. He has no family. Whoever finds him has the blessing of the Commission to put him in the earth."
Gabriel stood to his full height, reholstering his sidearm. "Nobody touches him," Gabriel said, his voice flat, icy, and final. "Dante belongs to me."
He turned to Mikhail. "Take Tess and Leo to the safehouse on the North Shore. Triple the guard. If a single car approaches the perimeter without my clearance, open fire without warning."
"Gabriel, wait," I said, catching his sleeve as he turned to leave. My heart was in my throat. "Where are you going?"
"Dante has a private marina slip in Queens," Gabriel replied, looking down at my hand where the Moretti signet caught the dim light. "He kept a seventy-foot yacht fueled for emergencies. He's running for international waters. If he reaches the open sea, he vanishes forever."
"He's desperate, Gabriel," I urged, stepping closer, ignoring the stares of the mob bosses around us. "He has nothing left to lose. That makes him dangerous."
Gabriel reached out, his gloved fingers gently cupping the back of my neck. He pulled me toward him, pressing his forehead against mine in front of Cardinal Bellini, Don Vincenzo, and every living capo on the eastern seaboard.
"He took eight years of your life, Tess," Gabriel whispered against my lips. "He murdered my wife, and he made my son live in terror of his own shadow. I am not letting him leave this state alive."
He kissed me—hard, fierce, and deliberate—then looked down at Leo, who was watching him with wide, serious eyes.
"Take care of Tess, Leo," Gabriel said softly. "I'll be home for dinner."
May you like
Leo nodded solemnly, squaring his small shoulders. "Bring back my chocolates, Papa."
A ghost of a smile touched Gabriel’s harsh lips. He turned on his heel, his black coat billowing behind him like a raven's wings, and strode out of the cathedral into the blinding blizzard, hunting the man who had torn his family apart.
