Chapter 2 - THE ESCAPE
The heavy metal door of the alleyway slammed behind us, cutting off the chaotic screams echoing inside The Velvet Room.
Rain had started falling over Boston, turning the asphalt into a slick, mirror-like surface that reflected the neon red sign above us. Matteo didn't slow down. He set me on my feet against the brick wall, but kept one massive hand pinned firmly against the collar of my jacket, keeping me anchored.
"Stay down and stay quiet," he rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register.
"You're out of your mind!" I gasped, clutching my torn, booze-stained blouse against my chest. "Why would anyone shoot at me? I'm a bartender! I live in a studio apartment in Allston with three radiators that don't work!"
Matteo pulled a matte-black firearm from beneath his tailored jacket with the smooth, practiced ease of a man who drew weapons as naturally as breathing. He didn't look at me; his sharp gray eyes were fixed on the alley's exit toward Newbury Street.
"You're not just a bartender, Sophie," he said softly.
My chest hitched. "How do you know my name?"
Before he could answer, the alley door swung open again. Two men in raincoats stepped into the dim halogen light, raising suppressed pistols.
Matteo didn't hesitate. He pulled me behind his body, raised his arm, and fired twice.
PFT! PFT!
The sounds were shockingly quiet—like heavy books falling onto a thick rug. Both men collapsed onto the wet pavement without making a sound.
My hands flew to my mouth, a terrified scream lodging itself in my throat. I had seen violence on TV, but seeing two human beings drop dead three feet away from me made the tequila in my stomach violently churn.
"Movement, Boss!" a voice called out from the darkness.
Matteo’s chief security guard, a towering man with a thick beard named Luca, burst around the corner driving a heavy, armored black SUV. He slammed on the brakes, throwing the rear passenger door open.
"Get in!" Matteo growled, shoving me unceremoniously into the leather interior before sliding in right behind me and slamming the door shut.
The SUV accelerated instantly, its tires squealing against the wet pavement as Luca swung the vehicle onto the main road, running a red light as three unmarked sedans pulled out from the shadows to pursue us.
I scrambled back against the leather seats, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it ringing in my ears. "Who were those men?! What is happening?!"
Matteo leaned back, calmly ejecting the spent magazine from his pistol and clicking a fresh one into place.
"Those were operatives belonging to the Falcone family," Matteo said calmly, checking his watch as if we were discussing the weather. "And three minutes ago, they tried to put a high-caliber round through your skull."
I stared at him in utter disbelief. "Why would the Falcone family want to kill me?!"
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Matteo turned his cold gray eyes toward me, a dark, unreadable expression settling over his features.
"Because six hours ago, your biological father died in a private hospital in Zurich," Matteo revealed. "And according to his final, ironclad will, you are now the sole owner of forty percent of the Boston shipping docks."
