Chapter 7 - Into the Shadows"Hold onto my belt," Dominic commanded, his voice cutting through the dark with absolute authority.
Clara didn't hesitate. She grabbed the heavy leather belt of his trousers with both hands, pressing her face against his broad back as he led her out of the master bedroom and into the darkened labyrinth of the upper hallway.
Gunfire echoed from the grand staircase.
"Enzo! Status!" Dominic barked into his lapel comms.
"Front lobby is breached, Boss!" Enzo’s voice crackled back through static. "We’ve got twenty Costa soldiers pushing the second-floor landing! We’re falling back to the panic room!"
"Negative," Dominic replied, steering Clara toward a narrow, hidden panel behind a massive oil painting of the Rossi ancestors. "Get the boys to the roof. Blow the stairwells. I’m taking her out through the maintenance tunnel."
"Boss, the tunnel leads right to the river dock! It’s exposed!"
"Do it, Enzo. That's an order."
Dominic pressed a hidden brass stud in the wall frame. The heavy oil painting swung inward, revealing a steep, concrete spiral staircase plunging downward into pitch-black gloom.
He pulled Clara inside with him, slamming the secret door shut just as a burst of automatic gunfire peppered the hallway wall where they had been standing a second earlier.
The descent down the spiral stairs was a nightmare of shadows and echoing footfalls. Clara’s bare feet scraped against the rough concrete, and every breath felt like inhaling fire, but Dominic didn't slow down. He kept one arm locked securely around her waist, half-carrying her down the spiraling depths until they emerged into a damp, concrete subterranean corridor lit by dim emergency amber bulbs.
At the end of the tunnel lay a heavy steel bulkhead door opening directly onto the private concrete pier along the East River, where a sleek, black motorboat idled quietly against the choppy waves.
Rain lashed down upon them the moment they stepped outside, soaking Clara’s hospital gown instantly and plastering her hair to her face.
Dominic shoved her gently into the passenger seat of the boat, ripping a heavy canvas tarp from the locker to wrap around her shivering shoulders. Then he leaped into the driver’s seat, slamming his hand onto the ignition switch.
The twin supercharged engines roared to life with a deafening, mechanical scream that shook the water around the dock.
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As Dominic spun the wheel and punched the throttle, shooting the boat out into the dark, churning currents of the river, a barrage of bullets skipped across the water behind them, fired by Costa’s snipers positioned on the shoreline.
Dominic didn't look back. He kept his eyes locked on the dark expanse of the open harbor, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles stood out like iron bands.
