Chapter 7 - Blood and Rain
Sunday evening arrived with a torrential downpour that lashed against the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill.
Eleanor Romano’s three-story brick townhouse sat bathed in warm light, looking peaceful from the outside. But inside, the perimeter was locked down by twelve of Vincent’s most elite enforcers, stationed at every door and rooftop vantage point.
In the second-floor drawing room, Claire sat on a velvet sofa, trying to keep Rosie entertained with a picture book while the sound of thunder rumbled overhead.
Vincent stood by the window, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, a heavy shoulder holster strapped tightly across his chest beneath his suit jacket.
"Are we going somewhere dangerous?" Rosie asked, looking up from her book with big, curious eyes.
Vincent walked over, kneeling in front of her. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead—a gesture that would have stunned anyone who knew his reputation.
"No, sweetheart," Vincent said softly. "We're just visiting your grandmother. Everything is going to be fine."
Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered and died.
Total darkness plunged the room into shadow for three seconds before emergency backup generators hummed to life, casting a dim, amber glow across the walls.
"Boss!" Grant’s voice crackled over the secure earpiece. " Perimeter compromised! Multiple armed hostiles scaling the rear garden wall! They bypassed the silent alarms!"
Vincent stood up instantly, drawing his pistol. He moved to Claire’s side, grabbing her arm. "Stay behind me. Do not make a sound."
The heavy oak front door blew inward with a deafening crash. Splintered wood flew across the foyer as three masked gunmen rushed into the house, automatic weapons raised.
Gunfire erupted instantly. Romano enforcers returned fire from the staircase, the sharp, thunderous cracks of gunfire shaking the old Beacon Hill home to its foundation.
"Get down!" Vincent shouted, shoving Claire and Rosie behind a heavy marble pillar.
Bullets ricocheted off the walls, sending plaster dust raining down. One of the intruders broke through the stairwell defense, charging toward the second-floor landing with a submachine gun pointed directly at the drawing room door.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He stepped out from behind the pillar, raised his 1911, and fired twice.
The intruder spun and collapsed hard onto the Persian rug.
"Clear the back exit!" Vincent barked into his comms. "Get my mother, Claire, and the girl into the armored vehicle in the alley!"
Eleanor rushed into the drawing room, her face pale but her eyes blazing with fury. "I told you they'd come, Vincent! Nobody ruins my Sunday pot roast!"
"Mother, move!" Vincent yelled, grabbing Eleanor’s arm alongside Claire.
As they fought their way toward the rear service stairs under heavy cover fire, a massive explosion shook the rear courtyard. The blast wave threw them off balance, sending dust and debris flying.
Vincent shielded Rosie with his own body, taking the brunt of falling ceiling plaster across his back. He groaned softly, blood soaking through the shoulder of his shirt, but he didn't stop moving.
"Vincent, you're bleeding!" Claire cried out, her hands trembling as she grabbed his coat.
"It's nothing," Vincent gritted through his teeth, pulling them toward the alley exit where Grant Keller and two armored SUVs waited with engines roaring.
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They piled into the backseat of the lead vehicle. As the armored doors slammed shut and tires screeched against the wet pavement, Vincent looked back at the burning Beacon Hill townhouse.
The trap had been sprung. But the war had just entered its final, bloodiest phase.
