Chapter 7 - THE SAFE AND THE STORM
The study at the end of the hall was pitch black, save for the pale moonlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that faced the raging Atlantic.
Ronan stood silently before the large portrait of Prosecutor Miller’s smiling wife. With a fluid, practiced motion, he lifted the heavy frame off the wall and set it gently on the leather sofa.
Behind it sat a heavy, digital biometric wall safe.
Ronan pulled the master key ring Elena had slipped him out of his pocket, inserted the override key into the mechanical backup slot, and turned it. With a soft, mechanical click, the heavy steel door swung open.
Inside sat stacks of cash, burner phones, and—most importantly—a thick black leather binder labeled: STATE OF RHODE ISLAND VS. VALE / MORETTI LEDGERS.
Ronan pulled the binder out, flipping open the pages. Every bribe, every shell corporation, every coordinated federal-mafia hit for the past five years was meticulously documented in Miller’s own handwriting. It was an absolute death sentence for the entire corrupt establishment.
Suddenly, the heavy oak study door clicked open.
“Hey, who’s in here? The caterer said—”
It was one of Moretti’s elite enforcers, a heavy-set thug holding a Glock.
Before the man could raise his weapon, Ronan moved with the terrifying speed of a striking cobra. He grabbed the heavy brass desk lamp and smashed it directly across the enforcer’s temple. The man dropped instantly, unconscious before he even hit the hardwood floor.
At that exact moment, the study door swung wider, and Elena slipped inside, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Did you get it?” she whispered frantically.
“I got it,” Ronan said, holding up the black binder. He grabbed her hand, his fingers locking tightly around hers. “We need to move. Now.”
Before they could reach the hallway, the loud, piercing wail of a security alarm echoed through the entire beach house.
WEE-OWW! WEE-OWW!
“Someone found the guard in the pantry!” Elena gasped.
“Run!” Ronan commanded.
Alarms blared overhead as red emergency lights flashed across the walls. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway from the dining room.
“Hey! Stop right there!” a voice bellowed.
Bullets punched through the wooden door frame as Moretti’s men and the corrupt police detail opened fire. Wood splinters rained down like shrapnel.
Ronan shoved Elena behind a massive stone fireplace, drawing his SIG Sauer and returning fire with cold, calculated precision. Two shots down the hall resulted in two heavy thuds as pursuers collapsed.
“Ronan! The terrace!” Elena shouted, pointing toward the glass wall facing the cliff.
The wind howled outside, driving sheets of rain horizontally against the glass. Below the cliff, the black Atlantic churned with violent, crashing waves.
“It’s a twenty-foot drop into open water!” Ronan yelled over the deafening alarm.
“Do you want to get arrested by Miller or take your chances with the ocean?” she challenged, her green eyes blazing with absolute madness and exhilaration.
Ronan looked at her—this chaotic, fearless waitress who had wandered into his tomb of grief and accidentally set the whole world on fire. A fierce, wild grin spread across his face.
May you like
“Hold on to me,” he commanded.
As the study door was blown off its hinges by a shotgun blast, Ronan wrapped his strong arm securely around Elena’s waist, raised his pistol with his free hand to cover their exit, and dove straight through the glass sliding doors into the stormy night air.
