Chapter 6 - BLOOD ON THE DOCKSThe armored launch tore through the dark, choppy waters of the Hudson River, kicking up a white wake against the freezing night.
Inside the cabin, Isabella sat propped against a stack of supply crates, sound asleep, exhausted from the miracle of walking and the terror of the siege. Little Emma sat beside her, keeping a silent, watchful vigil, her small hand resting over Isabella’s fingers where the silver charm glowed with a faint, steady pulse.
Sophia stood beside the helm, clutching a steaming mug of black coffee, her eyes hollow and dark.
"She came back to you," Sophia murmured, staring out at the distant neon lights of Manhattan. "Most men would have gone insane seeing what you just saw in that foyer."
"I've spent twenty years knee-deep in blood and betrayal, Sophia," I replied, keeping my eyes locked on the radar screen at the helm. "Miracles and monsters are just business with a different ledger."
"This isn't business, Mr. Moretti," Sophia said sharply, turning to face me. "The Santoro cartel isn't just a mafia family. They are the blood-sworn guardians of the Abyss Gate. For centuries, my family kept the seal locked in Naples, and your wife’s family kept it locked in New York. When Don Salvatore killed Elena, he was trying to break the lock to access the syndicate’s ancient subterranean treasury beneath the city."
"A treasury of what? Gold? Diamonds?"
"Power," Sophia whispered. "Power that can rewrite life and death. That’s why Isabella lost the use of her legs the night Elena died—the curse targeted the bloodline to prevent the next keeper from standing."
Before I could answer, the radar screen beeped furiously.
Three high-speed interceptor boats, running completely dark without navigation lights, surged out from the shadows of the Brooklyn Bridge, cutting off our path toward Pier 42. Heavy mounted machine guns glinted on their prows.
"Boss! We're being boxed in!" Sophia shouted, gripping the cabin wall as the launch swerved violently to avoid a collision.
"Get down on the floor with the girls," I commanded, kicking open the weapon locker beneath the console and grabbing a short-barreled tactical shotgun and two smoke grenades.
I slammed the throttle forward, roaring the twin marine engines to maximum RPMs. The launch surged ahead, leaping over the choppy swells like a wild beast.
"Fire!" a harsh amplified voice boomed from the lead interceptor.
A hail of heavy-caliber machine-gun fire shredded the canvas roof of the cabin, raining fiberglass and shredded fabric down around our heads. Bullets punched through the hull, spraying wooden splinters across the deck.
I didn't flinch. I stepped out onto the open stern deck, the freezing river wind whipping my trench coat around my legs.
I pulled the pin on one of the smoke grenades and hurled it directly toward the path of the nearest interceptor. It detonated instantly, releasing a thick, blinding wall of crimson smoke that engulfed their bow.
Blinded, the interceptor driver veered sharply to the left, crashing broadside into the second boat with a sickening crunch of fiberglass and screaming metal.
The third boat kept coming, closing the distance to twenty yards, its heavy gunner locking his crosshairs directly onto my chest.
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Suddenly, the dark water beneath the third boat began to boil. Massive, writhing waves of black water surged upward, forming towering hands of ice and tide that grabbed the hull of the interceptor and flipped it completely upside down into the freezing river.
I stood on the deck, watching the wreckage sink into the black depths. In the spray of the water, for just a fraction of a second, I saw Elena’s silhouette smiling at me from the crest of the wave.
