Chapter 7 - The Safehouse
Smoke drifted up the stairwell in thick, acrid billows, smelling of burnt rubber and ruptured hydraulic lines. Dante halted on the third-floor landing, his eyes watering from the fumes. He pressed Paige’s face gently into the clean cotton of his shirt, shielding her lungs from the soot.
""They blew the lower stairwell doors to funnel us to the main lobby,"" Dante analyzed aloud, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. ""Salvatore doesn't want a quiet abduction anymore. He wants a public execution to send a message to the syndicate.""
""Then where do we go?"" Elena asked, coughing, her fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve. ""The lobby is suicide!""
""The roof,"" Dante replied, turning and leading them back up the concrete steps. ""Marcus has a bird on standby five miles out. If we can reach the helipad before they secure the roof access, we’re out.""
They climbed through the dim, suffocating stairwell, passing floor four, floor five, until the air grew colder and the wind began to howl through the gaps in the rooftop emergency door. Dante pushed the heavy bar open with his shoulder, stepping out into the freezing midnight air.
Rain lashed down across the sprawling expanse of the hospital roof, catching the city skyline in sharp, reflective glints. The sky above was dark, heavy with low storm clouds. In the center of the illuminated landing circle sat no helicopter—only an empty expanse of wet tarmac and flashing yellow perimeter lights.
Dante pulled his phone from his pocket and hit redial. ""Marcus, where is the bird?""
Static crackled over the speaker, followed by the sound of heavy breathing and distant gunfire. ""Dante... abort the roof... they compromised the hangar at Teterboro... Marcus is down.""
The voice on the phone wasn't Marcus. It was smoother, older, dripping with aristocratic venom.
""Salvatore,"" Dante said, his grip on the phone tightening until the casing creaked.
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""Good evening, Dante,"" the voice purred through the speaker. ""You built quite a fortune pretending to be a legitimate businessman. But blood has a way of surfacing, doesn't it? Even the blood you hid across state lines. Look up, my boy.""
A searchlight snapped on from the roof of the adjacent mechanical tower, blinding Dante, Elena, and the child in a glaring cone of white light.
