Chapter 14 - The Siege of the Bluffs
-14-
The black town careened through the rainy night, racing along the winding coastal highway toward the bluffs at breakneck speed. In the backseat, Lyra sat gripping the leather upholstery, her knuckles white, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She wasn't safe at the estate. If the federal prosecutor had subpoenaed the property deeds, if Noah’s accounts were flagged, then the estate would be the first place federal agents—or worse, rival syndicate capos smelling blood in the water—would strike.
“Paulie,” she demanded, leaning forward between the front seats as the vehicle rounded a sharp coastal curve. “Turn around. We have to go back.”
“Orders are to take you to the estate, Miss Vance,” Paulie grunted, staring straight ahead through the rain-streaked windshield, his thick hands gripping the steering wheel with absolute rigidity.
“Noah is walking into a trap!” she shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. “If Dante’s allies or the federal agents move on him while he’s isolated at the gala—”
Before Paulie could answer, the headlights of the town car illuminated a horrifying sight blocking the narrow coastal road ahead.
Three black SUVs sat parked sideways across both lanes, their hazard lights flashing in a frantic, rhythmic pulse. Standing beside the vehicles were half a dozen men clad in tactical gear, holding automatic weapons with suppressors attached.
“Ambush,” Paulie muttered, his voice devoid of panic, dropping instantly into the cold, mechanical efficiency of a veteran killer.
He slammed on the brakes, throwing the car into a violent, screeching J-turn on the wet asphalt just as a hail of silenced gunfire chewed through the rear windshield, shattering the glass into a million glittering diamonds that rained down over the backseat.
“Get down!” Paulie roared, drawing a heavy Glock from his shoulder holster with one hand while keeping the steering wheel locked with the other.
Lyra dropped flat onto the floorboards of the car, covering her head with her hands as bullets punctured the metal doors with deafening pops, tearing through leather upholstery and filling the cabin with the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning rubber.
The town car clipped a concrete guardrail with a screech of tortured metal, spinning twice before coming to a violent halt against the rocky cliffside.
“Stay down!” Paulie barked, kicking his door open and rolling out onto the wet asphalt, immediately returning fire with rapid, disciplined bursts.
Gunfire erupted outside in a deafening symphony of violence. Lyra’s ears rang, the sound echoing in her skull as she curled into a tight ball on the floorboards. Through the shattered rear window frame, she could see muzzle flashes lighting up the dark, rainy night. Men were shouting, boots were crunching on gravel, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the pavement echoed over the sound of the crashing waves below.
Suddenly, the gunfire stopped.
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the wreckage, broken only by the hiss of the car’s punctured radiator leaking steam into the cold air.
“Paulie?” Lyra called out, her voice trembling violently as she raised her head slowly from the floorboards.
There was no answer.
A shadow fell across the shattered passenger door. A heavy combat boot kicked the door open with a loud groan of twisted metal.
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A man in tactical gear leaned down, his face obscured by a black balaclava, staring directly at her with cold, dead eyes. Before she could scream, a heavy hand grabbed her by the hair, hauling her out of the wrecked vehicle into the pouring rain.
“Got the tailor,” a gruff voice spoke into a shoulder radio. “Moving to secondary extraction. The capo’s pet is coming with us.”
