Chapter 4 - The Night the Iron Gates Fell
Midnight arrived with a howling nor'easter that battered the coast of Rhode Island with torrential rain and screaming winds.
Inside the south wing suite, the storm rattled the stained-glass windows, sending long, dancing shadows across the high vaulted ceiling.
Brinley was fast asleep in the large canopy bed, clutching her new brown teddy bear tightly against her chest, her small chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, peaceful cadence.
I couldn't sleep.
I paced the floor of the sitting room, dressed in a soft wool sweater and dark trousers, my eyes constantly darting toward the clock on the mantelpiece.
1:14 AM.
Jude had been gone for over an hour. His tactical convoy of four armored SUVs had rolled out through the heavy iron gates under the cover of the storm, heading north toward Boston.
A sudden, sharp sound cut through the howl of the wind outside.
It wasn't thunder.
POP. POP. POP-POP-POP.
Suppressed automatic gunfire!
My blood turned to pure ice. I froze in the middle of the rug, my eyes wide with terror as the distant sound of breaking glass echoed from the ground floor of the east wing.
"REGGIE!" I screamed, sprinting toward the suite doors.
I yanked the heavy oak doors open, stepping into the dimly lit hallway.
Reggie Shaw lay on the marble floor near the top of the grand staircase, a pool of dark blood spreading across his left shoulder! He was struggling to stand up, his tactical pistol raised toward the stairs.
"NORA! GET BACK INSIDE!" Reggie roared over the sound of shouting voices echoing from below. "GET BACK IN THE ROOM AND LOCK THE DEADBOLT!"
Before I could move, three figures clad in dark tactical gear, their faces covered by black ballistic masks, crested the top of the stairs!
"CLEAR THE CORRIDOR!" one of the gunmen barked, raising a short-barreled submachine gun and firing a burst into the ceiling!
BRRRRRT!
Plaster exploded from the ceiling in a shower of white dust!
Reggie fired two heavy rounds from his pistol, dropping the lead gunman, but the second attacker slammed a heavy boot into Reggie’s wounded shoulder, sending him crashing face-down onto the floor, unconscious!
I didn't think. Instinct—raw, primal maternal protection—took over my body.
I scrambled backward into the suite, slammed the heavy oak doors shut, and threw the double iron deadbolts into place!
"Mommy?" Brinley’s small, frightened voice squeaked from the canopy bed. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, her teddy bear slipping from her lap. "Is the thunder loud?"
"Stay under the blankets, baby!" I gasped, dragging a heavy velvet armchair across the floor, jamming it beneath the door handle just as a heavy body slammed against the wood from the outside!
THUD!
"Nora Vance!" a raspy, terribly familiar voice shouted from the hallway.
My breath trapped in my throat.
It wasn't Moretti. It wasn't a stranger.
It was Tristan.
"Tristan?" I whispered, horror spiking through my veins like liquid nitrogen.
"Open the door, Nora!" Tristan screamed, his voice laced with wild, unhinged panic as he kicked the door again. THUD! "Jude Mercer fell for the trap! His team is ambushed in South Boston right now! He’s not coming back! Open this door before my Philadelphia team blows the hinges off!"
I backed away from the rattling door, my hands trembling violently as I reached the bed, scooping Brinley up into my arms and tucking her head against my chest.
"You lied to me!" I screamed at the door, tears of rage blinding my vision. "You sold us out! You left your daughter to be taken by loan sharks!"
"I did what I had to do to survive!" Tristan yelled back, his voice frantic as the sound of a heavy drill began grinding against the lock mechanism outside. "Mercer was onto me! I had to leave you as a decoy so he wouldn't freeze my offshore accounts! Now open the door! Philadelphia wants you as collateral until Mercer’s surviving enforcers sign over the harbor ports!"
He hadn't come to save us. He had come to use us a second time—to trade his own wife and daughter to the Philadelphia syndicate in exchange for his complete freedom!
SCREECH-CRACK!
The heavy iron deadbolt groaned under the pressure of a hydraulic door spreader! The wood around the frame began to splinter in a rain of jagged shards!
"Mommy, I'm scared!" Brinley sobbed, burying her face into my sweater.
"I'm here, baby... I'm here..." I wept, backing into the corner of the room, looking around frantically for any weapon—a lamp, a fireplace poker, anything to fight the father of my child.
The lock shattered.
The heavy oak doors swung inward, sending the velvet armchair crashing onto its side!
Tristan Vance stepped into the warm glow of the guest suite.
He looked wild, disheveled, wearing a wet tactical rain jacket, a heavy pistol held loosely in his right hand. Two armed Philadelphia mercenaries stood behind him, their weapons raised.
Tristan looked at me, then at Brinley, a sick, frantic smile stretching across his pale face.
"Come on, Nora," Tristan said, stepping over the broken wood, extending his left hand toward us. "Don't make this difficult. The van is waiting in the courtyard."
"Don't touch us," I growled, stepping in front of Brinley, my eyes burning with a lethal fury. "If you take one more step toward my daughter, Tristan, I swear to God I will kill you myself."
Tristan laughed—a dry, pathetic sound. "With what, Nora? You're a maid. You're nothing without a man to protect you."
He reached out, grabbing my wrist with violent force, dragging me forward!
"LET HER GO!" a voice roared from the hallway.
Before Tristan could turn his head, a heavy, blood-stained leather boot slammed straight into his chest with the force of a battering ram!
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Tristan flew backward across the room, smashing through a glass coffee table in a shower of glittering shards!
Standing in the shattered doorway, drenched in rain and blood, holding a heavy tactical shotgun, was Jude Mercer.
