Chapter 9 - THE ITALIAN CONCLAVE
Z
"Down!" David roared, slamming his body over Logan and me as heavy caliber rounds chewed through the timber walls of our bedroom, sending showers of wood splinters and drywall dust raining over us.
The gentle, quiet life in Maine was destroyed in four seconds.
David didn't hesitate. The man who had spent two years running had finally stopped being afraid. He kicked open the bottom panel of our bedroom closet, revealing a reinforced steel lockbox he had hidden behind the floorboards months ago—a box I never knew existed.
He punched in a combination and pulled out a sleek matte-black submachine gun and three extra magazines.
"You said you were done with this!" I screamed over the deafening noise of gunfire below.
"I promised I'd never use it to hurt anyone, Cathy," David yelled back, sliding a magazine into the weapon with a sharp clack. "I didn't promise I wouldn't use it to kill the people trying to slaughter my family!"
He reached into the box and pulled out a small tactical radio, tossing it to me. "Erica Molina is waiting at the docks in a speedboat three hundred yards down the cliff path. I set up an emergency protocol weeks ago."
"Erica?!" I gasped. "My hospital supervisor?!"
"She was Alessandro’s planted operative in Baltimore from day one, Cathy!" David admitted, his face dark with adrenaline. "Why do you think she gave you time off? Why do you think she covered your shifts?! We didn't survive by accident!"
Another wave of shock hit me, but there was no time to process the betrayal. Heavy boots were already pounding up the wooden staircase of our home.
"Go!" David shoved me toward the hidden laundry chute in the hallway. "Take Logan and jump down to the cellar! I'll cover the stairs!"
"David, no! I'm not leaving you again!" I cried.
David grabbed my face with his gloved hands, pressing his forehead against mine. "You aren't leaving me, Cathy. We are fighting together. I will be right behind you. I swear on Logan's life, I will not stay dead this time!"
He kissed me fiercely, then grabbed Logan, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. "Be brave for Mommy, little man."
David turned, stepped into the hallway, and opened fire down the staircase. The roar of automatic gunfire filled the house as I pulled Logan into my arms and tumbled down the narrow laundry chute into the dark, stone cellar below.
We hit the pile of soft linens at the bottom with a hard thud. Logan whimpered, but he remembered my words from months ago—he pressed Captain Bear against his mouth to stay quiet.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbed a crowbar leaning against the cellar wall, and forced open the storm doors leading to the rear gardens.
Rain was pouring down in sheets, blurring the world into shades of grey and black. Red muzzle flashes illuminated the dense pine forest around our cottage. Two men in dark tactical gear were moving along the perimeter wall.
I stayed low, keeping Logan tucked beneath my raincoat as I sprinted through the wet brush toward the cliffside path. Behind me, the sound of David’s weapon echoed through the night, followed by the deep, thunderous explosion of our house's propane tank.
A fireball burst into the night sky, throwing monstrous shadows across the trees.
"DAVID!" I screamed, stopping at the edge of the cliff.
"Keep moving, Cathy!" a voice yelled from the smoke.
David burst from the burning tree line, bleeding from a gash on his arm, but running hard. He slid down the muddy incline, grabbing my waist, pulling me down the steep stone stairs toward the dark ocean below.
At the end of the wooden dock, a high-powered grey motorboat was idling against the rough waves. Standing at the wheel, wearing a heavy yellow slicker and holding a silenced pistol, was Erica Molina.
"Get in! Fast!" Erica barked, waving us forward.
We scrambled onto the boat just as bullets splashed wildly into the water around us. Erica slammed the dual throttles forward, the twin engines roaring as the boat leapt over the swelling waves, carving a path into the dark, icy waters of the Atlantic.
I collapsed onto the deck floor, clutching Logan to my chest, staring back at the burning remains of our dream home on the cliff.
David knelt beside us, gasping for air, wrapping his arms around both of us as the rain washed the soot from his face.
Erica turned her head briefly from the wheel, her face grim. "The state side is completely compromised. Vittoria has bought off the local port authorities. We can't land in Boston or New York."
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"Then where are we going?" David asked, his voice raw.
Erica looked at David, her eyes cold and resolute. "Where your bloodline began, David. We are going to Milan. If you want to save your son, you have to claim the Romano throne before Vittoria buries Alessandro alive."
