Chapter 9 - THE AMBUSH AT THE CABIN
Dawn broke over the Wisconsin woods in shades of grey and ice.
The storm had passed, leaving three inches of fresh snow covering the pine trees and the dark green Alfa Romeo resting in the ditch near the dirt track.
Norah woke up sitting in the wooden armchair beside the sofa, her hand still resting on the edge of Arthur’s blanket.
The cabin was silent.
Arthur was awake. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, fully dressed in a dry flannel shirt he had found in a closet, his left arm immobilized by a dark sling. He was loading fresh cartridges into his nickel-plated revolver using his right hand.
“You shouldn't be moving,” Norah said, sitting up quickly.
“They found us,” Arthur said calmly, not looking up from his weapon.
Norah’s blood ran cold. “What?”
Arthur pointed toward the frost-dusted window overlooking the driveway.
Through the trees, two black SUVs were moving slowly down the dirt track, their headlights cutting through the morning mist.
“How?” Norah gasped. “You said nobody knew about this cabin!”
“Sal was my father's consigliere for thirty years,” Arthur said, sliding the revolver into his belt. “He knew my father bought property in Wisconsin. It took him four hours to check the land registry records.”
He stood up, swaying slightly before catching his balance.
“There are at least six men out there,” Arthur whispered, stepping toward the window. “They’re going to surround the cabin and set it on fire.”
Norah walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up her father’s iron fireplace poker, and weighed it in her hands.
Arthur looked at her with a mix of awe and quiet tragedy. “Nora, put that down. You can't fight men with rifles with a poker.”
“I’m not sitting here waiting to burn, Arthur,” she spat back, her chin lifted high.
Arthur looked around the cabin. His eyes settled on a heavy wooden hatch in the floor of the kitchen pantry—a root cellar used for storing potatoes in the winter.
“Get in the root cellar,” he ordered.
“No!”
“Listen to me!” Arthur grabbed her shoulders with his good arm, shaking her slightly. “The root cellar opens into an old stone drainage trench behind the cabin. It’s covered by snow and pine branches. You can crawl out into the woods without them seeing you.”
“I am not leaving you again!” she screamed.
“You are going to take the black ledger to the feds!” Arthur commanded, his eyes burning with absolute, terrifying intensity. “That was the deal, Nora! You burn Sal’s empire to the ground with that book! If we both die here, he wins!”
He pulled her toward the pantry, threw open the heavy wooden hatch, and pushed her down onto the wooden ladder.
“Arthur...” she sobbed, tears blurring her vision as she looked up at him from the dark cellar.
Arthur leaned down, his mouth catching hers in a hard, desperate kiss that tasted of scotch, copper, and salt.
“Live your life, Nora,” he whispered.
May you like
He slammed the wooden hatch shut and threw the heavy iron bolt into place from the outside.
A second later, the cabin’s front windows exploded inward as automatic gunfire shattered the morning quiet.
