Chapter 4 - The Safehouse in the Poconos
Four hours later, the armored Lincoln pulled off a desolate, snow-dusted mountain highway in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, turning down a private, gated gravel road obscured by towering stands of pine trees.
At the end of the road sat a massive, fortress-like timber lodge surrounded by motion-activated floodlights and heavy iron perimeter fencing. This was one of Gabriel’s deep-cover safehouses—a place built to withstand a small military siege, completely off the grid and untraceable by local authorities or rival syndicates.
The heavy garage doors slid open automatically, and Marcus drove the SUV directly inside, sealing the space before killing the engine.
The boys had fallen asleep in the backseat during the long, terrifying drive, exhausted by the shock of the gala, the gunfire, and the sudden, violent intrusion of a father they had never known existed. Marcus gently carried Mateo and Julian inside while Claire carried Noah, her muscles aching with fatigue.
Inside, the lodge was warm, smelling of cedarwood, old books, and a wood-burning stone fireplace that Marcus quickly stoked to life.
Claire tucked the boys into a massive, oversized leather bed in the master guest suite, pulling thick wool blankets up to their chins. They stirred briefly, mumbling incoherent questions about their mother before drifting back into deep, dreamless sleep.
Claire walked back out into the main living room, where Marcus was standing by the window, peering through the blinds with night-vision binoculars.
“Any word from Gabriel?” Claire asked, her voice tight with anxiety.
Marcus lowered the binoculars, turning to face her with a grim, stoic expression. “The communications network in Manhattan is completely jammed. The local police are treating the Hudson Center incident as a terrorist-style active shooter event. But I received a secure satellite ping from Gabriel’s emergency transponder about twenty minutes ago.”
“And?” Claire pressed, taking a step forward. “Is he alive?”
“He’s alive, Mrs. Cross,” Marcus replied, though his jaw remained clenched. “He secured the perimeter, handed Serena over to federal custody with enough encrypted evidence to put her away for life on federal conspiracy charges, and wiped out the hit squad. But the men who attacked us... they weren't random thugs. They belonged to the Moretti family out of Chicago.”
Claire’s breath hitched. The Morettis. They were the most ruthless, unpredictable faction in the North American underworld, locked in a brutal territorial war with Gabriel’s syndicate for over a decade.
“Why would the Morettis target a children’s foundation gala?” Claire asked, her mind racing.
“They didn’t target the foundation,” Marcus said heavily. “They targeted him. And now that they know he has a family—now that they know he has three sons—you aren't safe anywhere in New York.”
The heavy iron front gate outside buzzed loudly, interrupting their conversation.
Marcus froze, instantly raising his sidearm and stepping in front of the living room archway.
The sound of a heavy diesel engine idling in the driveway echoed through the thick timber walls. A moment later, the front door’s electronic keypad beeped rapidly as a correct master override code was entered from the outside.
May you like
The heavy timber door swung open.
Standing in the doorway, soaked to the skin, his suit jacket torn and stained with dried blood, stood Gabriel Cross.
