Chapter 5 - The Siege of Gray Hollow
"Get the kids," Marco ordered, his voice dropping instantly into the cold, commander-in-chief tone that had made him a legend in Chicago’s dark alleys.
He didn't panic. He didn't hesitate. He was in his element—the predator defending his den.
I didn't argue. I scooped Mila into my arms, grabbed Leo’s hand, and followed Marco down the narrow hallway toward the back exit that led directly into Mr. Pike’s bakery workshop.
The smell of flour and warm sugar was thick in the air, but the shop was empty. The front bell of the bakery chimed—a cheerful, innocent sound that contrasted violently with the heavy thud of combat boots stomping against the front porch stairs upstairs.
"Down through the cellar trapdoor, now!" Marco yelled, lifting the heavy wooden hatch beneath Mr. Pike’s worktable.
"What about you?" I demanded, holding tightly to the twins.
"I'm going to buy you time," Marco said, pulling a second pistol from his waist holster and thrusting it toward me. "Take this. Take the kids through the old drainage tunnel that leads to the river. There's a boat waiting there. My men will get you across the state line."
"I'm not leaving you to die, Marco!" I shouted over the sound of wood splintering upstairs as the front door of the apartment above was battered down.
Marco reached out, his warm, rough hand cupping my cheek—the exact gesture I had dreamed of for three long years. His thumb brushed away a tear from my cheek.
"You gave me three years of hell because you thought I betrayed you, Elena," he whispered fiercely, his amber eyes burning into mine. "Let me give you a lifetime of safety. Go. Protect our children. I will find you—even if I have to tear every mountain in West Virginia down to the bedrock."
Before I could answer, a burst of automatic gunfire shattered the bakery’s front glass windows, sending sugar jars and flour sacks exploding into white clouds across the room.
"Go!" Marco roared, shoving me gently down the dark ladder of the cellar trapdoor.
May you like
I hit the dirt floor of the underground tunnel, pulling Leo and Mila tightly against my chest. As the heavy wooden hatch slammed shut above me, the sound of gunfire erupted in the bakery—sharp, deafening, and relentless.
Tears blinded me, but I didn't stop. I grabbed Leo’s small hand, hoisted Mila onto my hip, and plunged into the pitch-black drainage tunnel, running toward the river, toward the unknown, and toward a war that was only just beginning.
