Chapter 6 - Storm Over Bennett Heights
The snowstorm turned violent as midnight passed. A howling north wind swept through the narrow streets of Bennett Heights, throwing white sheets of snow across windshields and streetlights.
Inside number 43 Maple Street, Clare couldn't sleep. She sat in the dark living room, wrapped in a fleece blanket, staring at the glowing lights of the Christmas tree. On the coffee table lay a small photo album—pictures of Eli as a baby, his first steps, his first day of kindergarten. In almost every photo, she could see traces of Dante.
A soft tap on the side window made her flinch.
She stood up slowly, her heart pounding. She pulled back the curtain an inch. Standing in the swirling snow on the side porch was Dante, his coat dusted white, his hand resting inside his heavy jacket.
Clare unlocked the side door and opened it quickly. "Dante? What are you doing back here? It's two in the morning!"
Dante slipped inside, shutting the door firmly behind him and locking it. His face was pale, his eyes sharp and alert. "Where is Eli?"
"He's asleep upstairs with my mother," Clare said, her tone laced with immediate panic. "Dante, what's going on? You promised you wouldn't bring this here!"
"Listen to me carefully," Dante said, grabbing her gently by the shoulders. His hands were cold, but his grip was solid and reassuring. "Marcus is dead. He was working with the Marcone family. Before I eliminated him, he tipped Marcone off that I was visiting this street."
Clare felt the air leave her lungs. "Oh God. Oh God, Dante—"
"Hey, look at me," Dante commanded softly, lifting her chin with his thumb until her eyes met his. "Look at me, Clare. I have four armed men outside on this block right now. The house is surrounded by my people. You and Eli are completely safe inside. But Marcone thinks he can use this house as leverage against me. He’s sending a strike team tonight to check if this is my blind spot."
"We have to leave! We have to call the police!"
"The police won't arrive fast enough in this blizzard," Dante said calmly. "And if we try to drive out now, we run straight into an ambush on the highway. We stay here. We use the storm and the neighborhood to our advantage."
Right on cue, a quiet vibration buzzed in Dante’s pocket. He pulled out his radio. Leo’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and clipped: "Boss, three black SUVs just turned onto Maple Street from the north intersection. No lights on. They’re rolling slow."
Dante clicked the transmitter. "Intercept the first vehicle. Do not let them reach the driveway."
"Understood."
Clare squeezed her eyes shut, a sob tearing at her throat. "This is why I left, Dante," she whispered bitterly, tears spilling over her cheeks. "This nightmare. I tried so hard to protect him from this!"
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Dante pulled her against his chest, holding her tight. The scent of her hair—vanilla and warm cotton—instantly transported him back seven years to a time when he had been a whole man. "I know," he breathed into her hair. "I know, Clare. And you were right. You were completely right to hide him. But I am here now. And I will burn down the world before I let anyone hurt either of you."
From down the street, muffled thuds echoed through the heavy snow—the sound of suppressed gunfire and crashing metal. The battle for Maple Street had begun.
