Chapter 7 - THE SIEGE OF EVANSTON
The heavy metal security doors at the end of the corridor slammed shut, but not before the echo of automatic gunfire rattled through the walls.
The Navarros weren’t here for a negotiation. They were here to erase the man who had humiliated them and the family he had left vulnerable.
“Michael, secure the door!” Dante barked, the defeated man from ten seconds ago vanishing instantly. The king was back, forged in adrenaline.
Michael slammed the heavy deadbolt on the clinic suite door, dragging a heavy medical supply cart in front of it. “We have maybe three minutes before they blow those hinges, boss.”
Silas was already moving. He pulled a secondary weapon from an ankle holster and tossed it to Dante. Dante caught it smoothly with his good arm, ignoring the blood seeping from his shoulder wound.
“The emergency generator is keeping the NICU running,” Silas said, checking the monitors through the glass. “But it only has two hours of fuel. We have to hold them off.”
Lucia sat up, the pain in her abdomen eclipsed by pure, unadulterated terror. Not for herself, but for the tiny life in the next room. “They’ll shoot through the glass,” she panicked. “If they get in here, they’ll shoot the incubator!”
Dante turned to her, his face illuminated by the harsh red emergency lights. He stepped to the side of her bed, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that anchored her to the earth.
“I swear to you on my life, Lucia,” Dante said, his voice a low, gravelly vow. “No one crosses that threshold. I will die before a piece of glass touches either of you.”
He didn't wait for her to answer. He turned to Michael. “What’s the play?”
“There’s a choke point at the elevator bank,” Michael said. “If we hold them there, they can’t reach this wing. But it’s a suicide mission. There are at least a dozen of them.”
“Then we narrow the odds,” Dante cocked the gun. He looked at Silas. “You stay here. You protect them. If I fall, you don’t hesitate. You shoot anyone who walks through that door who isn’t me.”
Silas nodded, a deep, begrudging respect finally settling into his eyes. “Give them hell, Moretti.”
Dante and Michael slipped out the side access door, disappearing into the dark, red-lit corridor.
The silence that followed was agonizing. Lucia gripped the sheets, her eyes darting between the heavy wooden door and the glass wall of the NICU, where the nurses were huddled defensively around Elena’s incubator.
Pop. Pop. Pop-pop-pop.
The gunfire started, deafening and close.
Lucia flinched with every shot. She imagined Dante, bleeding, outgunned, throwing himself into the line of fire to buy her daughter another breath. He had signed the divorce papers. He had given her everything. He had nothing left to gain, no control left to exert. He was simply dying for them because he loved them.
“Silas,” Lucia whispered, her voice trembling. “Is he going to die?”
Silas stood by the door, his gun raised, his face grim. “Dante Moretti is a stubborn son of a bitch. Men like him don’t die easily. But the Navarros are ruthless.”
A massive explosion shook the building. Dust rained down from the ceiling tiles.
The radio on Michael’s abandoned jacket crackled.
“...pinned down! We’re pinned down in the stairwell! Boss is hit again!”
Lucia screamed, “Dante!”
She threw her legs over the side of the bed. The pain tore through her incision like hot iron, but the adrenaline masked it.
“Lucia, stay in the bed!” Silas ordered, keeping his gun trained on the door.
“I’m not letting him die alone!” she cried, grabbing her IV pole to steady herself.
Before she could take a step, the heavy suite door shook violently. Someone was kicking it from the outside.
Silas aimed squarely at the center of the wood. “Get down, Lucia!”
The door shuddered again, the wood splintering around the hinges. Then, a voice shouted from the other side.
“FBI! Drop your weapons! We have the building surrounded!”
Silas didn’t lower his gun. “Identify yourself!”
“Special Agent Harris! We received a tip about a cartel hit on this clinic from a Michael Grant!”
Silas exhaled a long, shaky breath and slowly lowered his weapon. He unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
A SWAT team flooded the hallway. Behind them, two paramedics were rushing forward with a stretcher.
Lucia pushed past Silas, limping heavily into the hallway.
“Dante!” she screamed.
At the end of the hall, near the shattered elevator banks, Michael was leaning against the wall, bleeding from a cut on his forehead. And on the floor, surrounded by fallen cartel members, was Dante.
He was conscious, but barely. A new gunshot wound leaked crimson across his ribs.
Lucia dropped her IV pole and fell to her knees beside him, ignoring the frantic shouts of the paramedics.
“Dante, look at me,” she sobbed, pressing her hands against his chest, feeling the weak, thready beat of his heart.
Dante’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up at her, a faint, bloody smile touching his lips.
“Are they... safe?” he choked out.
“Yes,” she cried, pressing her forehead against his. “Elena is safe. We’re safe. You saved us.”
Dante reached up with a trembling, blood-stained hand, and gently touched her cheek.
“Good,” he whispered. “Now you can... build a better world for her.”
May you like
His hand fell away, and his eyes rolled back.
“No!” Lucia screamed as the paramedics pulled her back. “Dante, don’t you dare leave me again! Dante!”
