Chapter 43 - Blood in the Neon Rain
The service tunnels beneath the waterfront district smelled of moss, stagnant river water, and diesel exhaust. We moved through the subterranean shadows like ghosts, Dante leading the point with a silenced MP5, while Luca carried me against his chest whenever the pain stole the strength from my legs.
My left shoulder was completely numb now, a terrifying sensation that told me the bullet had nicked an artery or lodged dangerously close to the nerve cluster. Blood was trickling steadily down my arm, dripping off my fingertips onto the damp concrete floor.
"She’s losing too much blood, Luca," Carmela warned in a sharp whisper, jogging alongside us despite her age and the trauma of her captivity. She ripped a strip of cloth from her silk blouse, binding it tightly across my wound to reinforce Luca's field dressing. "She will go into hemorrhagic shock if we don't get this slug out within the hour."
"There is a safehouse two blocks north," Luca grunted, his breathing heavy but steady as he carried my weight through the narrow passages. "Old Marco’s underground clinic. He owes my family his life."
"Marco is dead, Luca," Dante muttered over his radio headset, checking a handheld tactical tablet. "His clinic was raided twenty minutes ago by the Cassani crew. Word spread fast that Antonio called a general hunt. There is a ten-million-dollar bounty on your head, Boss. Five on Sophie. And three on Donna Carmela. Every vulture in the five boroughs is looking for our scent."
"Let them look," Luca snarled, his jaw tightening into iron. "Dante, activate the Iron Line. Call in the vanguard from the docks. Tell them the king is not dead, and anyone flying a traitor’s banner will have their family wiped from the registry by sunrise."
We emerged from a rusty drainage culvert into a deserted alleyway behind an abandoned meatpacking warehouse. Neon signs buzzed through the torrential downpour, casting sickly purple and green reflections over the puddles.
A black armored SUV idled in the shadows, its headlights off. Two men stepped out with rifles raised—until Dante flashed an infrared strobe from his lapel.
"Lower them!" Dante barked.
The rear doors swung open. "Get in, get in!"
Luca slid into the back seat, pulling me gently onto his lap so my head rested against his chest. Carmela scrambled in beside us, slamming the reinforced door shut just as gunfire erupted down the street. High-caliber rounds pinged loudly against the bulletproof plating of the SUV as the driver slammed on the gas, tires shrieking on the wet asphalt as we fishtailed out of the crossfire.
Inside the dimly lit cabin, Carmela opened the tactical medical kit mounted to the bulkhead. Her hands were surprisingly steady as she prepped a syringe of morphine and a scalpel.
"Hold her down, Luca," Carmela ordered, her aristocratic demeanor completely transformed into that of a wartime matriarch. "The bullet is lodged against the clavicle. I have to extract it now before the vehicle hits rough road."
"Sophie," Luca murmured, his hands gripping my jaw, forcing my eyes to stay locked with his. His thumbs wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. "Look at me. Only at me. Do not look down."
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The needle pierced my skin, followed seconds later by the agonizing bite of the surgical forceps. I screamed into Luca's chest, my fingers clawing into the tactical weave of his vest, tears cutting through the grime on my face. Luca held me like a vise, whispering fierce, broken promises into my hair until the darkness claimed me.
***
