Chapter 29 - The Price of Defiance
The two lead gunmen stepped forward, raising their weapons to clear Vincent out of the way.
Vincent didn't wait.
With a movement too fast for a man his size, he grabbed the rim of a heavy stainless-steel mobile medical tray, flipping it violently upward into the faces of the advancing men. The steel smashed into the first guard’s chin with a sickening crack, while Vincent’s right hand whipped out, discharging his weapon three times in a tight, deafening cadence.
Two of Dante’s men dropped instantly.
"Down!" Vincent roared, grabbing the collar of my jacket and dragging me behind the heavy industrial column supporting the crane tracks above.
A hail of automatic gunfire chewed into the concrete pillar, showering us with stone splinters and blinding white plaster dust. Lily screamed against my neck, her small hands clawing frantically at my shirt.
"Lily, baby, listen to Mama," I whispered furiously into her ear, my body curled around hers like an armored shell. "Close your eyes. Cover your ears and count to twenty like we practiced. Do it now!"
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her tiny palms against her ears, her lips moving silently as bullets pulverized the edges of our cover.
"The hatch is twenty yards straight ahead," Vincent yelled over the thunder of gunfire, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle. "When I move, you sprint. Do not look back. Drop Lily through the chute first—there's an old rubber maintenance baffle six feet down that will break her fall. Then jump."
"What about you?" I demanded, grabbing his forearm. His sleeve was already soaked with fresh blood; a ricochet had grazed his bicep, opening a jagged red line across his dark shirt.
"I hold the corridor," he said, meeting my gaze. For the first time since he had dragged me out of that airport terminal, there was no dominance in his eyes, no cold pride, no ghost of the mafia don who commanded an army. There was only the father of my daughter. "If Dante follows us into the tunnels, we all die. Go, Claire. Give her a life."
"Vincent, no—"
"Go!"
He lunged out from behind the pillar, firing with lethal, calculated accuracy. Another of Dante’s men fell back into the debris, and the concentrated wall of fire shifted away from my side of the column toward Vincent’s position.
I didn't hesitate. Every maternal instinct screamed at me to run, to protect the little girl trembling against my chest.
I bolted from the cover, my sneakers finding traction on the dust-slicked floor. Bullets pinged against the iron floorplates behind my heels. Ten yards. Fifteen yards.
A sudden, sharp sting ripped through the meat of my left thigh. The pain flared hot and white, causing my leg to buckle beneath me. I fell hard onto my knees, skidding across the concrete, but I twisted my torso at the last fraction of a second so that my hip and shoulder took the impact, keeping Lily safely nestled in the hollow of my chest.
"Claire!" Vincent's scream cut through the roar of gunfire.
I dragged myself upward, biting through my lip until I tasted copper, refusing to give in to the fire burning down my leg. The iron hatch was right there. I threw the latch up with one bloody hand. The heavy cover swung back on greased bearings, revealing the black vertical shaft leading down into Chicago's subterranean drainage network.
"Mama!" Lily cried, opening her eyes in terror as the dark hole yawned before us.
"Trust Mama," I choked out, kissing her forehead. "I'm right behind you."
I dropped her into the darkness. A soft thump and a startled gasp from below confirmed she had hit the safety baffle safely.
I turned to haul myself over the lip of the shaft, but a heavy leather boot slammed down onto my injured hand, pinning my fingers against the iron rim.
I looked up through tears of pain.
May you like
Dante Moretti stood over me, his face devoid of emotion, the barrel of a polished silver revolver pointed directly between my eyes.
"A mother's devotion," Dante remarked quietly. "Truly touching. But completely pointless."
