Chapter 2: The Controlled Ambush
881 Words
The smell flipped in a second. Incense and old stone gone. Cordite and dust in its place.
Julian hit the floor and covered her. He was solid over her, muscles locked, as chunks of drywall and marble came down on the back of his suit. His hand was already at his shoulder, pulling the black Sig free. His eyes were on the men rushing the center aisle.
He didn’t see the one coming from the vestry.
Clara did.
The click was small. A safety. Five yards away.
If Julian dies, Leo dies.
The math happened before she could think it.
She slid her hand out from under Julian’s weight. No wasted movement. Her fingers found the silver hilt of the stiletto. She didn’t stand. She moved under the low cover of the fallen altar rail, quiet.
The enforcer lifted his rifle toward Julian’s head.
She was already there.
Left hand clamped over his mouth. Right hand up, under the jaw, fast. The blade found what it needed to find. He went limp instantly. She caught the rifle with her other hand, laid him down on the stone without a sound, and slid back into the smoke before the dust from the stained glass even settled.
When Julian spun, g*n raised, checking their flank, he found a dead man bleeding onto the velvet altar cloth. And Clara. Curled against the stone in her white dress, now splattered red. Breathing too fast. Eyes wide. Shaking.
"Julian!" Dante’s voice tore through the noise. He and three Valenti men were laying down cover fire, pushing the Marcone shooters back toward the doors. "We have to move! Rear exit’s clear but they’ve got the perimeter!"
Julian barely looked at the body. His eyes snapped to her. He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her up. His grip was bruising. But his eyes were frantic in a way she’d never seen.
"Are you hit?" he said over the ringing.
"N-no," she sobbed. She let her knees buckle just enough. "There was... a man... he just fell..."
He didn’t stop to analyze it. He put the g*n away, picked her up, and ran.
Against his chest she could feel his pulse hammering. Hers was too. Not from the violence. She knew that. It was from how easy it had been to kill for him. She was supposed to be dismantling his life. Instead she was relying on his strength to get out alive. The guilt sat heavy in her chest. Survival and vengeance were starting to bleed into each other and she hated it.
They burst through the heavy oak doors into rain that hit like a wall. An armored black SUV idled in the alley. Dante threw the door open, fired three shots down the street, and dove into the passenger seat.
Julian put her in the back and climbed in after her, slamming the door as bullets hit the reinforced glass. Dull thuds.
"Go!" Dante yelled. The tires grabbed and the SUV shot forward, throwing Clara against the leather.
Inside, the quiet was loud. Julian sat beside her, breathing hard, jaw tight. The groom was gone. The Don was back.
"How did they get the cathedral coordinates?" His voice was low and dangerous. The driver wouldn’t look at him in the mirror. "Only the inner council knew about the venue change."
"We’ve got a leak, Boss," Dante said, loading another mag. "A deep one. Marcone knew which doors to hit."
Clara kept her head down, hands over her face, shoulders shaking. Under her palms her eyes were open and staring at the floor mats. The leak wasn’t on the council.
Three nights ago she’d pulled the encrypted brief off Julian’s desk during her last scouting run. She’d sent the security route to a Marcone contact through a dead drop. It was supposed to be a controlled ambush. Weaken the perimeter. Not a m******e at the altar.
The thought that her move had almost cost Leo his lifeline made her stomach turn.
Then Julian’s hand closed around her wrist and pulled her hands from her face.
She looked up, watery eyes, playing the victim. But he wasn’t looking at her tears.
He was looking at her sleeve.
A dark, thick handprint on the white lace. Not spray. A grip. From where she’d covered the enforcer’s mouth.
His thumb brushed the edge. Then he looked at her face. Whatever crossed his expression wasn’t just suspicion. It was fascination too. Lethal and quiet.
"That’s a very specific mark," he said softly, leaning in until his shadow covered her, "for someone who was just hiding, Clara."
She opened her mouth. No excuse came out.
The driver slammed the brakes. The SUV skidded sideways and stopped hard.
In the high beams, a semi-truck blocked the bridge out of the district. Red and blue lights flared behind them. Two unmarked sedans pulled up and boxed them in.
Dante swore and drew his g*n. "We’re boxed in."
Julian still wasn’t looking at the road. He was looking at her. His grip on her wrist tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep her there. He pulled her forward until their faces were inches apart.
"We’ll finish this when we’re clear," he whispered. "Don’t move."
Then he reached for the door handle.
- Writer
