Chapter 6 - The Liturgy of Lead
Saint Jude’s Cathedral sat on the highest hill of the lower valley, a massive Gothic structure of dark granite and stained glass that had been paid for with the tithes of three generations of Romano port workers. On a normal Friday morning, the steps would have been crowded with old women in black shawls and children walking to the parochial school across the courtyard.
Today, the stone plaza was entirely empty, saved for a thin layer of gray fog that clung to the iron railings like a shroud.
Gabriel Romano walked up the grand granite steps alone, his long black coat open, his hands buried deep in his pockets. The heavy oak doors of the church were unlocked, creaking loudly as he pushed them open and stepped into the vast, echoing silence of the nave.
The interior was lit only by the hundreds of small red votive candles burning near the altar, casting long, bloody shadows across the polished marble floorboards. The smell of frankincense and old wax was heavy, mixing with the damp chill of the morning.
Sitting in the very front pew, directly before the high gold crucifix, was Sloan Kensington. She was no longer wearing her white silk wedding gown; she wore a simple, tailored black coat, her blonde hair pulled back tightly into a leather clip. Beside her stood Dominic Vance—a massive man with a scarred face and eyes that looked like two pieces of unpolished flint. Behind them, hidden in the shadows of the stone pillars, were a dozen Kensington enforcers, the metallic clicks of their submachine guns sounding like crickets in the dark church.
"You're late for the rehearsal, Gabriel," Sloan said, her voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling without a hint of fear. She didn't turn around to look at him. "The priest got tired of waiting. I told him you were delayed by a business matter."
Gabriel stopped ten yards behind her, his shoes clicking against the marble. "The business matter is settled, Sloan. Your father is in the city morgue, and Marcus is under a tarp in the harbor district."
Dominic Vance stepped out from the pew, his heavy leather trench coat swinging open to reveal a tactical submachine gun slung across his chest. "You think you're a big man because you caught an old man and a traitor by surprise, Romano? Look around you. You’re in our valley now. Your ports are locked, your men are hiding, and you walked into this church without a single gun at your back."
"I don't need a gun at my back, Vance," Gabriel said, his voice a steady, mechanical hum that carried no vibration of fear. "I have the river."
Vance frowned, his brow furrowing as he stepped toward the center aisle. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Before Gabriel could answer, the heavy tactical radio strapped to Vance’s chest crackled to life with a frantic, static-ridden scream that tore through the holy silence of the cathedral.
"Dominic! Dominic, do you hear me?" the radio wailed, the voice of their rail yard commander pitching into a high, animalistic terror. "The tunnels... the whole lower portal just blew! The water treatment gates are wide open! The river is coming through the main line! We’ve lost the trucks... we’ve lost forty men in the lower trench... we’re drowning down here, Dominic! We're—"
The transmission was cut short by a heavy, rushing roar of water that echoed through the speaker before the frequency went dead.
Dominic Vance went pale, his hand tightening around the grip of his weapon as he stared at Gabriel with a sudden, ancient dread. "You... you flooded the lower valley."
"My assistant has a very thorough understanding of the city's infrastructure," Gabriel said softly.
He didn't wait for Vance to recover from the shock. Gabriel’s hand came out of his pocket, holding his Glock-19, and fired three rapid rounds into the two enforcers hidden behind the nearest pillar. The men fell backward into the shadow of Saint Jude’s statue, their weapons clattering onto the marble with a chaotic roar of stray bullets that shattered a stained-glass window above the altar.
The church exploded into a frantic, chaotic firefight.
Gabriel threw his body behind a heavy oak confessional box just as Vance unleashed a full magazine from his submachine gun, the 9mm rounds splintering the ancient wood into a cloud of sharp yellow fragments. Gabriel returned fire through the splintered gaps, his shots precise, calculated, each one finding a target in the darkness of the nave.
Sloan didn't scream this time. She stood up from the pew, her face twisted into a mask of pure, lethal fury as she pulled a small silver derringer from her pocket and fired two shots toward Gabriel’s position. One round grazed the shoulder of his coat, tearing through the wool, but she didn't get a chance to fire a third.
The heavy side doors of the cathedral were suddenly kicked open, and Liam burst into the church followed by six Romano enforcers carrying heavy tactical shotguns.
"Clear the nave!" Liam roared, his weapon barking a continuous, rhythmic pattern of lead that tore through the remaining Kensington ranks like a scythe through wheat.
Dominic Vance turned to run toward the sacristy, but Gabriel stepped out from behind the ruined confessional, his weapon raised, his eyes locked onto the butcher’s chest.
"The war is over, Vance," Gabriel said.
He fired two rounds through the center of Vance’s chest, the impact throwing the massive enforcer backward against the high altar, his blood smearing the white linen cloth as he slid down to the stone floorboards.
Sloan Kensington dropped her weapon, her hands shaking as she looked around the ruined church—at her men lying dead among the votive candles, at Dominic Vance’s body cooling on the altar steps, at Gabriel Romano walking toward her with a face that looked like it had been carved from the granite of the mountain.
"You can't kill me, Gabriel," she gasped, her voice breaking as she backed away toward the iron gate of the crypt. "The commission... the other families... they won't allow a total eradication. There has to be a truce. There has to be terms."
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"The terms were violated when your men touched my assistant," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a whisper that was colder than the grave beneath their feet. "Liam, take her to the harbor. Put her on a boat back to Boston. If she ever steps across the state line again, sink her."
He turned away without waiting for her reply, his long coat snapping in the cold draft of the broken window as he walked down the center aisle, leaving the ruined cathedral behind him as the sun finally broke through the gray fog of the valley.
