Chapter 4 - Collateral Damage
The service elevator plunged toward the sub-basement with a shuddering groan that rattled Mia’s teeth. The air inside the shaft was freezing, smelling of engine grease and damp concrete.
Mia’s knees were burning. She was bearing nearly half of Enzo’s weight, her arm wrapped firmly around his waist, while Bernardo stood at the front of the car, rifle raised, watching the illuminated floor indicators tick downward.
Every few seconds, Enzo’s body trembled with a deep, systemic tremor. The sudden flood of adrenaline was warring with the toxic remnants of two years of heavy sedation. His breathing was ragged, his forehead burning against Mia’s temple, yet his grip on her shoulder never slackened. It was possessive, unyielding, as if letting go of her meant tumbling back into the void.
“You’re burning up,” Mia muttered, struggling to keep them both upright as the elevator slowed.
“Withdrawal,” Enzo ground out between clenched teeth. “Penhaligon was keeping me flooded with neuro-paralytics. Dante didn’t just wait for me to die. He kept me chemically submerged.”
Mia felt a cold shiver race down her spine. “You were awake in there? The whole time?”
Enzo’s jaw tightened until the muscles bulged. “Not awake. Trapped. Like being buried under six feet of black water, hearing voices on the surface, unable to move a finger to break through the ice.” He looked down at her, his silver eyes flashing with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “Until you shattered the ice.”
The elevator doors scraped open, revealing the subterranean delivery bay.
The Catskills blizzard had already begun to invade the underground garage. Snow swirled through the open bay doors, dusting the hoods of four black armored Suburbans and Mia’s battered white catering van, which looked absurdly fragile parked beside the fleet of combat-ready SUVs.
Suddenly, tires screeched on the frozen ramp above. Headlights swept across the damp concrete walls, blinding them.
“They’re here,” Bernardo barked, dropping into a low crouch behind a concrete pillar. “Valetti’s vanguard. Dante must have triggered a silent duress code from his watch.”
Automatic gunfire erupted before Bernardo could finish his sentence.
Bullets chewed into the metal skin of the elevator doors, sending bright sparks and deadly shrapnel screaming through the bay. Mia screamed, ducking instinctively, but Enzo moved faster. Despite his weakened frame, he threw his entire weight over her, shoving her behind a heavy steel support pillar and shielding her body with his own.
A ricochet chipped the concrete three inches above Enzo’s ear. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
“Bernardo,” Enzo commanded, his voice eerily calm despite the hail of lead echoing through the cavernous garage. “The suburban on the left. The keys are magnetic, under the rear wheel well.”
“I’m pinned, boss!” Bernardo yelled back, returning fire in controlled three-round bursts. “Two shooters behind the salt bins, three more moving down the ramp! If I break cover, they’ll flank the elevator!”
Mia looked past Enzo’s shoulder. Her beat-up catering van was only twenty feet away, positioned directly in front of the secondary exit ramp—a narrow delivery chute that bypassed the main gate.
“My keys,” Mia said, her voice trembling as she patted the pocket of her apron. “They’re in my pocket. The van is running. I left the engine idling to keep the heater on for the drive home.”
Enzo looked at the rusted white van, then down at Mia. “That tin can doesn't have an ounce of armor. A single round will pass through both doors.”
“The delivery chute has a twelve-foot clearance,” Mia said rapidly, her mind racing through the logistics she had memorized upon arrival. “Your Suburbans are too tall with the roof racks. They won't clear the lower pipe manifold. My van will. If we take the service ramp, we bypass the main security gate entirely.”
Enzo stared at her, assessing her not just as an accidental savior, but as a woman with terrifyingly sharp instincts under pressure.
“Can you get me across twenty feet of open concrete?” he asked.
“If you can keep your feet moving,” Mia replied, setting her jaw. “I have to get back to the city. My brother Leo… he’s in the hospital. If I don't deliver the money for his medication by morning, they’re transferring him to state care. I am not dying in this garage.”
Enzo’s gaze locked onto hers. The ruthless mob boss seemed momentarily arrested by the fierce, stubborn love in her voice.
“Your brother gets his medicine,” Enzo said, the promise ringing like a contract signed in blood. “I swear it on my mother's grave. Now move.”
“Bernardo! Suppressive fire on the ramp!” Mia yelled.
The mercenary leaned out from behind his pillar and emptied a full magazine toward the incoming attackers. The roar of the rifle echoed like thunder, forcing the gunmen behind the salt bins to duck.
“Go!” Bernardo roared.
Mia wrapped both arms around Enzo’s torso, taking his weight as he pushed off with his good leg. They burst from behind the pillar into the freezing crosswind of the garage.
Gunfire immediately cracked from the upper ramp. A round punched through the windshield of a nearby SUV, showering them with safety glass. Another bullet sparked off the concrete at Mia’s heel, but she didn't look down. She drove her legs forward, carrying Enzo toward the idling van.
They hit the side sliding door of the catering van with a heavy thud. Mia threw the latch, slid the door open, and practically shoved Enzo onto the corrugated metal floor among the empty chafing dishes and thermal delivery bags.
She scrambled into the front seat, slamming the driver’s door just as a volley of bullets stitched across the rear quarter-panel.
“Bernardo! Get in!” Mia yelled through the shattered side mirror.
“I’ll hold the ramp!” the mercenary shouted back over the din of battle, slapping a fresh magazine into his rifle. “Get the Don to Manhattan! The safehouse on 4th Street! Go!”
A bullet tore through the van’s passenger side window, spraying Mia with tiny glass cubes.
“Drive, Mia!” Enzo’s voice roared from the back. He had dragged himself into a sitting position against a stack of aluminum trays, a heavy iron tire iron clutched in his bleeding hand, his eyes burning with lethal focus. “Drive!”
Mia slammed the shifter into reverse, stomped the gas, and spun the wheel. The front tires shrieked against the slick epoxy, whipping the van around in a violent arc. She threw it into drive and floored the accelerator.
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The van surged forward, rocketing straight toward the low-clearance delivery chute. Overhead pipes scraped the roof with an agonizing screech of tearing metal, but the van didn't stop. It burst through the plastic weather flaps, hit the snowy mountain road at fifty miles per hour, and vanished into the blinding white fury of the blizzard.
***
