Chapter 8 - The Enemy of My Blood
The vehicle spun across the wet pavement, tires screaming as an armored semi-truck rammed them from the left flank, forcing the convoy toward the stone steps of St. Michael’s plaza.
"Ambush!" Lucas shouted from the passenger seat, unholstering his weapon.
Gunfire erupted like a sudden summer hail, high-caliber rounds chewing through the reinforced doors of the Suburban. The bulletproof glass spiderwebbed in white fractals.
"Move! To the church!" Gabriel yelled, shielding Rachel’s body with his own as he kicked the warped door open.
They spilled out onto the cobblestones under a barrage of suppressive fire. Gabriel fired his sidearm with pinpoint precision, dropping two advancing gunmen in tactical gear before pulling Rachel behind the heavy stone balustrade of the cathedral steps.
Through the rain and muzzle flashes, a sleek black Maybach idled at the edge of the square.
The rear window rolled down. Victoria Lane sat inside, sipping champagne from a crystal flute, her diamond necklace glittering under the streetlamps. Beside her, armed mercenaries advanced in a disciplined skirmish line.
"Caleb, darling!" Victoria’s voice amplified through a loudspeaker. "You always were so terribly sentimental! Did you really think Marcus was the only one who knew about Julian’s little holy sanctuary? Bring me the ledger, and I might let you choose which cemetery you and your little princess are buried in!"
"Cover the left flank!" Rachel shouted, popping up from behind the balustrade and squeezing off a controlled three-round burst from her weapon. A mercenary charging the right flank collapsed onto the stone steps.
Gabriel glanced at her, a fierce, blazing pride in his dark eyes. "Remind me never to lie to you again."
"Survive tonight, and we’ll negotiate your punishment," Rachel shot back, swapping out a fresh magazine.
Lucas and the remaining Rossi loyalists formed a defensive perimeter around the heavy bronze doors of St. Michael’s. "Boss! Get inside! We can hold the courtyard for five minutes, no more!"
Gabriel grabbed Rachel’s hand, his grip crushing and unyielding, and hauled her through the massive church doors just as a rocket-propelled grenade struck the outer steps, sending a concussive shockwave through the heavy oak.
Inside, the cathedral was cavernous, smelling of aged beeswax, cold marble, and centuries of silent prayers. Rain hammered against the stained-glass windows depicting the archangel Michael striking down the dragon.
"The bell tower stairs are behind the altar," Rachel said, catching her breath.
"Stay behind me," Gabriel said, reloading his rifle. "Victoria won't stay outside. She wants the execution to be personal."
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As they reached the base of the spiral stone stairs leading to the bell tower, a slow, mocking applause echoed from the shadows of the confessional booths.
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