Chapter 5 - The Siege of Beacon Hill
“Luca!” Matteo roared, springing up from the floor with terrifying speed.
He pulled a black 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster, racking the slide with a sharp, lethal sound, and shoved Elena behind his back into the corner of the kitchen nook.
The wooden door of the studio was kicked off its broken frame, crashing inward onto the floorboards.
Two men in dark tactical gear stepped over the threshold, automatic submachine guns raised.
Matteo fired twice before the men could acquire their targets. The heavy rounds struck the first attacker in the chest, dropping him instantly onto the ruined door. The second attacker ducked sideways, spraying a wild burst of bullets across the apartment ceiling.
Plaster and dust rained down like white snow.
Elena screamed, ducking low behind the kitchen island, covering her ears as the deafening roar of gunfire filled the small apartment.
“Stay down!” Matteo yelled, firing three precise shots into the hallway frame where the second gunman was retreating.
From the hallway, a harsh, gravelly voice echoed through the smoke.
“Bellini!” the voice shouted, filled with a heavy South Boston accent. “Give us the ledger and the girl, and O’Connor lets you walk out of this alley alive!”
Matteo’s face turned into a mask of pure, absolute murder. “Red,” he called out coldly. “Sully O’Connor sent a lieutenant to do a Don’s job?”
“Sully knows what’s in that notebook, Matteo!” Red yelled back from the landing. “The Morettis offered five million for the ledger, and ten million for your head! Hand over the widow!”
Matteo looked back over his shoulder at Elena.
She sat crouched against the lower cabinets, her face pale, dust in her hair, her hands clutching her stomach defensively.
He felt a cold, ruthless rage ignite in his chest—a fire so hot it burned away every trace of doubt.
“Elena,” Matteo said softly, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the smell of cordite and copper. “Where is the ledger?”
Elena looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear, then pointed a trembling finger at the corner of the room. “Under the loose floorboard under the bed.”
Matteo moved with terrifying efficiency. He crossed the room, dropped to one knee, kicked aside the bed frame, and pulled the loose oak plank up. He reached into the dark cavity, pulling out the thick, brass-bound red leather notebook.
He didn't open it. He tucked it into his coat pocket, then turned back to her, offering his hand.
“Can you run?” he asked.
“I’m pregnant, Matteo, not made of glass!” Elena shouted back, taking his warm, strong hand and pulling herself up.
Matteo pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist, anchoring her against his side. “The fire escape on the rear window leads to the alley behind the bakery. My backup car is parked on Pinckney Street.”
“What about Luca?” Elena asked, looking at the blood pooling in the hallway.
“Luca is a Bellini captain,” Matteo said flatly. “He knows how to survive a hit.”
He raised his weapon, fired two suppressing rounds into the hallway frame to keep Red’s men pinned down, and dragged Elena toward the rear window.
He used his elbow to smash the glass pane, kicking out the wooden frame, and stepped out onto the cold, iron fire escape into the pouring Boston rain.
“Go!” Matteo ordered, guiding her down the wet metal stairs. “Keep your head down!”
As they descended into the dark, slick alley below, automatic gunfire erupted behind them from the third-floor window.
Matteo kept his broad body positioned directly above her, acting as a human shield against the rain of bullets and iron.
They hit the brick pavement of the alley, their shoes splashing through filthy gutters. Matteo led her through the dark maze of Beacon Hill’s rear lanes, his gun held low, his hazel eyes scanning every shadow.
They burst onto Pinckney Street just as a silver armored sedan pulled up to the curb, its rear door sliding open automatically.
“Get in!” Matteo yelled, shoving Elena into the plush leather interior before jumping in beside her and slamming the heavy reinforced door shut.
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“Drive!” Matteo commanded the driver. “To the private airfield in Bedford!”
The sedan accelerated hard, its heavy tires screaming against the wet asphalt as it vanished into the stormy Boston night.
