Chapter 6 - Blood on the Linoleum
The deafening roar of the shotgun blast tore through the cramped apartment, the concussive force shattering the kitchen windows into thousands of glittering shards. But Vincent had already anticipated the trigger pull. He spun with unnatural, lethal agility, firing twice from his concealed weapon before the shooter could rack another shell. The intruder dropped with a heavy thud, taking out a row of kitchen cabinets as he fell.
"Down! Stay down!" Vincent roared, shoving me beneath the heavy cast-iron table as a hail of gunfire erupted from the hallway.
Marco and the other two guards opened fire down the corridor, their weapons barking with tactical rhythm, keeping DeLuca’s hitmen pinned behind the drywall. Plaster exploded in white clouds, choking the air with acrid dust and sulfur. Glass sprayed everywhere. In the chaos, I clutched the green tackle box against my ribs, trembling violently, praying to God to keep Ellie safe back at the manor.
Vincent dropped beside me, reloading his weapon with lightning speed. It was only when the amber glow of the hallway light hit his torso that my blood ran cold. The dark wool of his sweater was rapidly soaking through with deep crimson. A spray of buckshot had caught him along his left shoulder and flank when he threw himself in front of me.
"You're hit!" I screamed over the din of gunfire. "Vincent, you're bleeding!"
"It's a graze," he grunted through clenched teeth, though the tight clenching of his jaw betrayed the agonizing pain searing through his side. "Marco! Clear the fire escape! We're leaving now!"
"Corridor is clear, Boss! Three down, the rest ran down the main stairs!" Marco shouted back, smoke pouring from his barrel.
Vincent grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet with his uninjured arm. His grip was fiercely strong despite the blood soaking his sleeve. "Run, Emily. Don't look back."
We scrambled out the shattered window, sliding down the rain-slicked fire escape into the alley just as the sirens of approaching police cruisers began to wail in the distance—no doubt tipped off by DeLuca's corrupt precinct contacts to clean up the crime scene. We dove into the armored SUV, the tires smoking as the driver slammed on the gas, tearing around the corner into the safety of the night.
Inside the bouncing vehicle, Vincent slumped back against the leather seat, his face suddenly pale, breath coming in shallow, ragged rasps. His left hand was clamped over his ribs, blood pooling between his long fingers.
"Teresa has a surgical suite ready at the manor," Marco said urgently from the front, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "Doctor Rossi is already on-site."
"Vincent, look at me," I pleaded, grabbing a clean emergency towel from the console and pressing it firmly against his bleeding side. The pain was etched into every line of his chiseled face, but as his dark eyes locked onto mine, there was no regret—only a fierce, burning resolve.
"Did you... did you keep the box?" he whispered, his voice cracking from the strain.
"I have it. It's safe. You saved my life," I sobbed, tears cutting through the plaster dust covering my cheeks as I applied pressure to his wound. "Why did you do that? You don't owe me anything. You barely know me."
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Vincent raised his uninjured right hand, his blood-stained knuckles brushing against my cheek with surprising, heartbreaking tenderness. "Daniel was a good man who tried to protect this city. And you are a mother who would walk through fire for her daughter. I spent five years letting darkness consume me, Emily. But tonight... tonight I finally protected the family that mattered."
His eyes fluttered shut as the adrenaline began to fade, his head falling back against the headrest. Panic seized me like a vice. "Vincent! Stay awake! Ellie is waiting for you! Stay with me!"
