Chapter 9 - The Smuggler's Light
The narrow iron ladder inside the false closet wall was slick with condensation and freezing cold. Dileia descended into the pitch-black darkness of the cliffside tunnel, her heart hammering against her ribs like a frantic drum. In her arms, she carried Giana, who was crying silently, her tiny hands wrapped around Dileia’s neck, her beloved stuffed rabbit Barnaby clutched tightly between her teeth by its single ear.
"It's okay, baby," Dileia whispered into the dark, her feet finding the wet, uneven stone floor of the tunnel. The air here smelled heavily of salt water, old rotting timber, and the damp mold of the Atlantic cliffs. "Daddy is going to meet us at the end. We just need to keep moving."
Behind them, high up in the stone mansion, the muffled sounds of explosions and automatic gunfire echoed down the elevator shaft like the rumblings of an angry volcano. Dileia didn't look back. She navigated the slippery, lightless path using her memories of the worn streets of the west side—she had spent her whole life finding her way through dark, dangerous alleys; she wouldn't fail now when a child’s life depended on her.
After what felt like an eternity of stumbling through the dark, the tunnel opened up into a massive, natural sea cave at the base of the cliffs. The roaring of the frozen Atlantic ocean was deafening here, the black waves crashing against the jagged rocks just five feet below the wooden pier where a sleek, dual-engine cigarette boat sat tied to the pilings.
"Dileia!"
A sharp, familiar voice cut through the sound of the surf.
Marcello stepped out from behind a wooden shipping crate, his tactical vest torn and covered in dark blood, his assault rifle leveled at the mouth of the tunnel. When he saw Dileia and Giana, he lowered the weapon, a heavy gasp of relief escaping his lips.
"Thank God," Marcello breathed, running forward to help Dileia onto the wooden pier. "The Boss told me to meet you here. The house is completely compromised. Don Falcone brought forty men... it’s a slaughterhouse up there."
"Where is Salvatore?" Dileia demanded, her voice rising into a panic as she handed Giana to the underboss. "Marcello, tell me! Is he alive?"
Before Marcello could answer, a heavy, dragging footstep echoed from the tunnel entrance.
Salvatore stumbled out into the dim gray light of the sea cave. He looked like a man who had crawled back from the depths of hell. His cashmere sweater was shredded, his right arm hanging limply at his side, a thick stream of dark crimson blood soaking through his trousers from a deep bullet wound in his thigh. He was leaning heavily against the stone wall, his face pale, his breath a rattling, agonizing gasp.
"Daddy!" Giana shrieked, twisting out of Marcello’s arms and running across the slick wooden pier.
"Giana... stay back," Salvatore wheezed, his body collapsing onto one knee as his strength finally gave out. He reached out his left hand, catching his daughter and pulling her against his bloody shoulder with a final, desperate exertion of his will.
Dileia ran across the pier, falling to her knees beside him in the wet snow and salt water. Her hands flew to his face, her fingers tracing his cold, sweaty skin as tears ran down her cheeks like rain. "Salvatore... oh my God, Salvatore. You're bleeding so much."
"The... the Falcone family is dead, Dileia," he whispered, a small, bloody smile breaking through his agony as his eyes locked onto hers. "I met the Don in the master foyer. He... he won't be coming after my daughter ever again. But his men... they’re still coming down the stairs. Marcello... get the boat ready."
"Boss, you can't travel in this condition," Marcello said, his voice cracking as he prepared the boat’s engines. "You'll bleed out before we reach our safe harbor in New Jersey."
"He won't bleed out," Dileia said, her voice suddenly transforming from a terrified server into a fierce, unyielding commander. She stood up, her thin face tightening with a determination that made Marcello freeze. She reached into the tactical van's emergency kit on the pier, pulling out a roll of heavy gauze and a bottle of medical antiseptic. "Salvatore, look at me. You told me that a gun has no power unless the man holding it has a purpose. Well, my purpose is keeping you alive. You are not going to leave this daughter without a father. And you are not going to leave me after you promised to protect my light."
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She knelt down, pressing the gauze directly into his bleeding thigh wound with a force that made the powerful mafia boss groan in agony. She didn't flinch. She held the pressure, her hazel eyes locked onto his dark ones with a hypnotic, fierce love that seemed to pull him back from the edge of the black abyss.
"Hold onto me, Salvatore," she whispered, leaning down to press her lips against his bloody cheek. "Hold onto me, and don't you dare close your eyes."
