Chapter 7 - Ambush in the Parking Deck
Inside the pitch-black interior of the van, the air was thick with the scent of leather and gunpowder. I pulled Logan down onto the floorboards between the captain’s chairs, wrapping my body completely around his small form to shield him from any stray rounds that might pierce the vehicle’s skin.
Outside, the staccato rhythm of gunfire was deafening. The van rocked violently as Viktor and his men returned a devastating wall of lead, pinning the attackers behind their SUVs.
“Driver, punch it!” Alessandro’s voice boomed through the partition from the front seat as he hauled himself into the passenger side, his breathing ragged and heavy.
The Mercedes roared to life, tires screaming against the slick concrete as the driver slammed the accelerator. The van lurched backward, spinning in a tight arc before accelerating hard toward the darker, unlit recesses of the sub-basement—toward the abandoned drainage tunnel.
I peeked up through the back window. The two black SUVs tried to pursue, but Viktor had tossed a heavy industrial smoke grenade that exploded in a thick, sulfurous cloud, completely blinding their line of sight.
The van plunged into the damp, echoing darkness of the subterranean tunnel. The headlights cut through the gloom, reflecting off glistening brick walls covered in decades of moss and graffiti. Water pooled across the floor, splashing heavily against the undercarriage as we barreled deeper underground, away from the hospital, away from the bullets, and toward whatever awaited us at the northern safehouse.
Up front, Alessandro twisted in his seat, looking back through the partition window to check on us.
“Are you and the boy alright, Catherine?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle compared to the cold tactical commander he had been moments ago.
I wiped a streak of soot from my cheek, my heart still hammering against my ribs like a trapped drum. I looked down at Logan, who had miraculously fallen asleep amidst the deafening noise, exhausted from the terror of the night.
“We’re alive,” I said, my voice steadying. “For now. But you better hope David’s safehouse actually has answers, Alessandro. Because when this is over, you and my husband are going to explain every single piece of this nightmare.”
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Alessandro offered a faint, tired smirk, leaning his head back against the headrest as the van sped deeper into the dark Baltimore night.
“You’ll have all your answers soon enough, Mrs. Winters,” he murmured, closing his eyes as the van bounced over a pothole. “And trust me... the men who ruined your life are going to wish they stayed in the shadows.”
