Chapter 7 - The Alleyway War
Roman emerged from the narrow, soot-stained coal chute into the freezing night air of the rear alleyway.
Rain had begun to fall, slicking the cobblestones and washing the smell of smoke from his clothes.
Fifty feet ahead, Matteo was helping Elena over a high chain-link fence that separated the alley from a commercial parking lot.
“Roman!” Elena cried out in relief, turning on top of the fence as she saw him emerge from the gloom.
“Move! Go!” Roman shouted, sprinting toward them.
Suddenly, two dark SUVs screeched to a halt at the mouth of the alleyway, their high beams blinding them with harsh white light.
The doors flew open, and six armed men stepped out—Victor’s secondary containment team.
“Drop your weapons!” a man yelled over a loudspeaker.
Matteo pushed Elena down behind a concrete dumpster, drawing his sidearm, and opened fire. Roman slid behind a stack of wooden pallets, returning fire with his remaining ammunition.
Muzzle flashes strobed wildly in the narrow, rain-slicked alley. Bullets ricocheted off brick walls and metal trash containers with deafening metallic screeches.
Roman’s pistol clicked lock-back. Empty.
He swore under his breath, pressing his back against the wet pallets. He was out of ammunition, surrounded, and separated from his wife by twenty feet of open, bullet-swept pavement.
“Roman!” Elena screamed from behind the dumpster.
One of the mercenaries advanced on Roman’s position, his rifle aimed directly at the wooden pallets. “End of the line, Duca!”
Before the mercenary could pull the trigger, a heavy black sedan slammed into the rear of the two mercenary SUVs with the force of a missile.
Metal crumpled violently. Glass exploded into the street.
The mercenary was thrown off balance, tumbling onto the wet cobblestones.
The driver’s side door of the black sedan swung open, and a tall, heavily built man with a thick grey beard stepped out, wielding a heavy pump-action shotgun.
It was Captain Moretti—the oldest and most traditional of Roman’s syndicate captains, accompanied by three carloads of loyal Duca enforcers.
BOOM!
Moretti discharged the shotgun, taking down two mercenaries in seconds. “Protect the Boss!”
The alley erupted into a full-scale war as loyal Duca soldiers poured out of their vehicles, flanking Victor’s men with overwhelming firepower.
Within ninety seconds, the alley went completely silent, save for the rhythmic patter of falling rain and the groans of wounded men.
Captain Moretti marched over to Roman’s position, racking another shell into his shotgun. “Sorry we’re late, Boss. We had to clean out Victor’s men at the north docks before we could get to you.”
Roman stood up, wiping rainwater from his eyes. “Moretti. How many men do you have?”
“Forty heavy shooters in the street, Boss,” Moretti reported grimly. “And fifty more securing the perimeter around the ballroom. The rest of the family heard what Victor did. Nobody is siding with a traitor.”
Roman walked over to the dumpster, reaching down to pull Elena up into his arms. She collapsed against his chest, weeping with sheer, unadulterated exhaustion.
He held her tightly, feeling her heart beating against his ribs—fast, strong, and alive.
“Is it over?” she sobbed softly into his neck.
May you like
Roman looked past her toward the front of the venue, where sirens were finally wailing in the distance, mixing with the red flashes of burning emergency lights.
“Not yet,” Roman growled softly. “Victor is still inside.”
