Chapter 4 - The Ambush in the Night
The gunshots tore through the peaceful afternoon park like lightning strikes.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Pigeons erupted from the trees in a wild frenzy as pedestrians screamed, scattering in every direction. A black, heavily tinted delivery van hopped the curb, crashing through the iron park bench twenty yards away, its side door sliding open to reveal three men armed with automatic submachine guns.
"Down!" Dante roared.
He tackled Isabella and Teo to the ground just as a hail of 9mm bullets chewed through the wooden trunk of the oak tree above them, sending sharp splinters of bark flying through the air.
Isabella covered Teo’s body with her own, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it echoing in her teeth. Teo didn't scream; he buried his face into her neck, locking his fingers into her wool coat.
Dante rolled smoothly onto his back, raised his weapon with both hands, and fired four rapid, precise shots.
The lead shooter in the van collapsed backward, his gun clattering onto the asphalt.
"Marco! Cover the left flank!" Dante barked into his collar mic, his voice entirely devoid of panic—a predator in his natural element. "Get the armored SUV to the fountain steps now!"
"Dante, behind us!" Isabella screamed, pointing toward the hedge row.
Two men in leather jackets broke through the bushes, pistols raised.
Dante didn't even look fully around; he swung his arm, firing twice over his shoulder. Both men dropped instantly into the autumn leaves.
Isabella stared at Dante in terror and awe. He moved with a terrifying, fluid grace—a man who had survived a hundred wars and knew exactly how to deliver death without hesitation.
"Dr. Conti! Run for the black SUV at the fountain!" Dante commanded, pulling her up by her waist while keeping his body positioned between her and the gunfire. "Go! Now!"
Isabella didn't argue. She scooped Teo into her arms, ignoring the sharp pain in her aching back, and sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her across the grass.
Behind her, Dante stood his ground like a titan, firing methodical, suppressing rounds that kept the remaining attackers pinned behind their crashed van.
A bullet clipped Dante’s left shoulder, tearing through his cashmere coat and drawing a line of bright red blood. He barely flinched. He stepped backward, continuing to fire until his magazine clicked empty, dropped the spent clip, slapped a fresh one in with a lightning-fast motion, and resumed firing.
Isabella reached the armored SUV. The rear door flew open, and Marco grabbed her by the shoulder, hauling her and Teo into the heavy leather interior.
"Get down on the floor!" Marco yelled, pulling a heavy tactical rifle from between the seats.
Dante dove into the vehicle a second later, slamming the heavy, bulletproof door behind him. "Drive! Get us to the estate!"
The driver slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The heavy 12-cylinder engine roared to life, and the armored vehicle plowed through the park exit gates, shattering the iron bars and speeding into the city traffic at eighty miles an hour.
Inside the SUV, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, burnt rubber, and iron.
Isabella sat on the floorboards, hugging Teo tightly against her chest. She was shaking so violently her teeth were chattering. "Are you hurt, Teo? Did they touch you?"
Teo lifted his head. He looked at her pale face, then reached out a small, trembling hand to touch her cheek. "Isa... okay?" he whispered.
"Yes, baby," she wept, kissing his dark hair. "Isa is okay. We're safe."
"He’s not," Marco said, looking over at Dante.
Dante was sitting back against the leather seat, his eyes closed, his face pale. His coat was torn at the shoulder, and dark red blood was rapidly soaking through his gray suit jacket, dripping onto the carpeted floor.
Isabella’s ER instincts overrode her fear instantly. "He’s hit!"
"It’s a flesh wound," Dante grunted, opening his eyes. "I’ve had worse."
"Shut up," Isabella snapped, scrambling onto her knees beside him. "Marco, give me the emergency kit from under the seat! Now!"
Marco quickly handed her a black tactical trauma kit.
Isabella sliced Dante’s expensive suit jacket open with a pair of trauma shears, exposing his broad chest and shoulder. The bullet had grazed his anterior deltoid, carving a deep, three-inch gash that was pumping dark crimson blood.
She pressed a heavy gauze pad directly onto the wound, applying hard, direct pressure.
Dante let out a sharp, hissed breath, his jaw tightening as his knuckles turned white against the seat armrest. He looked down at her. Her hands were covered in his blood, but her dark eyes were blazing with fierce, professional focus. She didn't hesitate; she didn't shrink away from the gore.
"You're very good under pressure, Doctor," Dante gasped out, a faint, dark smirk touching his lips despite the pain.
"I treat gunshot victims three nights a week in the ER, Mr. Moretti," she said coldly, wrapping a compression bandage tightly around his shoulder. "Most of them don't have three SUVs full of mercenaries chasing them down the highway."
"They do when they belong to my world," Dante said softly.
He looked past her shoulder to where Teo was watching them from the seat. The boy was staring at Dante’s bleeding shoulder, his eyes wide with a strange, haunting recognition. He had seen blood before—in the dark basement where Sal had kept him. But this time, the man bleeding wasn't his abuser.
This man had stepped in front of the bullets to protect him.
Slowly, incredibly, Teo slid off the leather seat, walked over to where Dante sat, and reached into his own little pocket. He pulled out a crumpled paper tissue Isabella had given him earlier and held it out toward Dante’s bloody hand.
Dante froze. He looked at the tiny tissue, then looked up into his son’s dark eyes.
Tears welled in the mob boss’s eyes once more. He slowly took the tissue with his uninjured hand.
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"Thank you, Leo," Dante whispered, his voice trembling with profound love. "Thank you, my son."
Teo didn't run away this time. He sat down beside Isabella on the floor, resting his small head against her knee, his eyes never leaving his father’s face.
