Chapter 5 - The Siege of TribecaThe front iron doors of the loft shuddered under the devastating impact of a heavy battering ram.
"They're through the outer foyer!" one of the guards shouted, pulling the pin on a smoke grenade and tossing it toward the stairwell as automatic gunfire shredded the heavy oak panels.
"To the freight elevator!" Dante ordered, pushing me toward a reinforced steel door in the back of the kitchen.
Bullets punched through the brick walls overhead, raining plaster and dust down onto the hardwood floors. The noise was deafening—a chaotic symphony of shattering glass, screaming metal, and tactical shouts echoing through the industrial space. One of Dante’s guards went down, clutching his shoulder as he returned fire toward the shattered windows.
Dante didn't hesitate. He grabbed my hand, yanking me into the narrow elevator shaft just as a second wave of mercenaries breached the main living area. He slammed the emergency descent button, and the heavy metal cage dropped sickeningly fast toward the subterranean garage.
"Are you hit?" Dante demanded, his dark eyes sweeping over me in the dim amber light of the elevator car.
"I'm fine!" I gasped, pressing my back against the cold steel wall. "How did they find us so fast? This place was supposed to be secure!"
"Silvio didn't track us," Dante said, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "One of the senior advisors on the commission tipped him off. They don't want a trial tonight. They want us dead before we can present the ledger."
The elevator jolted to a violent halt in the underground garage. The doors slid open with a screech of protesting metal, revealing a concrete expanse filled with parked luxury sedans and the steady drip of overhead pipes.
As we stepped out into the shadows, two of Silvio’s enforcers stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, automatic rifles raised.
Dante didn't give them a chance to speak. He fired twice—bang, bang—dropping the first man instantly. The second man raised his rifle, but before he could pull the trigger, Dante lunged forward, slamming him against the side of a concrete column until the man slumped unconscious to the floor.
"Get in," Dante ordered, yanking open the door of a nondescript black SUV parked near the exit ramp.
I scrambled into the passenger seat, pulling my knees up as Dante threw the vehicle into reverse, tires squealing against the concrete as we blasted out of the garage and into the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan.
"Where are we going?" I yelled over the roar of the engine.
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"To the Grand Hotel," Dante said, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "The commission is holding its emergency summit there in forty minutes. If we walk through those front doors with the digital ledger, we win. If we don't..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. In the rear-view mirror, two black SUVs were already tearing around the corner behind us, their high beams cutting through the rain like searchlights.
