Chapter 23 - The Shadow at the Window
Clara spun on her heel, her gun leveled instantly, but a heavy hand knocked her wrist upward. A bullet tore into the plaster ceiling as a massive figure stepped out of the hallway shadows.
"Drop it, Clara," Dante commanded.
He was standing in the doorway, soaked in rain, his heavy wool overcoat dark with water. But behind him did not stand Marco. Behind him stood four men in tactical balaclavas, their submachine guns raised, their red laser sights dancing across Julian’s chest monitors.
"Dante?" Clara gasped, her mind spinning. "How... how did you find me?"
"You took an unmarked Audi from my private fleet," Dante replied, stepping into the room. His face was entirely devoid of warmth. It was the face of the Butcher of Brooklyn, the man who had executed three capos in a single night without blinking. "Every car in my garage has a military-grade transponder embedded in the chassis. Did you really think you could slip away from me on the night we secured the city?"
Julian let out a wheezing, mocking laugh from the bed. "Look at him, Clara. The dutiful attack dog arrives right on schedule."
Dante didn't even look at the bed. His gaze stayed pinned to Clara's pale face, tracking the terror in her eyes, then shifting down to the open folio on the medical table.
"What is that?" Dante asked softly. That quiet tone was worse than a scream. It meant someone was about to die.
"Don't look at it, Dante," Clara pleaded, stepping between him and the table, holding her hands up. "Please. It’s a trap. It was designed to destroy us."
"Step aside, Clara."
"Dante, listen to me—"
Before she could finish, the window behind Julian exploded inward in a hail of high-caliber sniper fire.
Glass shattered into a million diamond shards. One of the tactical guards behind Dante took a bullet straight through his neck, his blood painting the peeled walls in an instant, violent arterial spray.
"Ambush!" Dante roared.
In a fraction of a second, Dante's cold demeanor vanished. He lunged forward, grabbing Clara by the collar of her coat and dragging her to the floor behind the heavy steel-reinforced desk just as a volley of automatic fire shredded the wall above their heads.
The monitors on Julian’s bed erupted in sparks. Julian let out a choked cry as shrapnel bit into his shoulder.
"They followed you!" Clara screamed over the deafening roar of gunfire.
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"They didn't follow me," Dante gritted out, pulling two semi-automatic pistols from his holsters, his eyes flashing like silver lightning. "They followed *you*. Your father’s location was leaked the second that messenger boy dropped that box in Brooklyn!"
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