Chapter 10 - Blood in the Sun
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By the following afternoon, the autumn sky had cleared into a brilliant, crisp blue that painted the trees of Boston Common in shades of crimson and gold.
Leland had begged his mother to let him visit the public park to see the swan boats and feed the ducks before the winter frost arrived.
Anias had insisted on coming along, refusing to allow his family out of his sight for even a single second.
They walked along the paved path near the lagoon, appearing to all outward observers like an ordinary, wealthy American family enjoying a crisp Sunday outing.
Leland wore a miniature navy peacoat over his clothes, holding tightly to his father’s large hand on one side and his mother’s hand on the other.
In his small grip, he carried a bag of breadcrumbs and his beloved teddy bear tucked under his arm.
Nancy looked at Anias, a soft, tentative smile playing on her lips as she watched him patiently match his long strides to their son’s tiny steps.
For the first time in five years, the suffocating shadow of the past seemed to lift from her chest.
Yet Anias’s eyes never stopped scanning the tree line, the park benches, and the pedestrians strolling along the perimeter.
Fifty yards ahead, Carmine walked in plainclothes with a rolled newspaper concealing a firearm.
Two more security operatives trailed twenty paces behind them, maintaining a discreet protective bubble.
“Look, Papa! The big ducks!” Leland shouted, pointing toward a flock of mallards resting near the stone water’s edge.
The boy broke free from their grip, running excitedly toward the water with his bag of breadcrumbs.
“Leland, stay near the grass!” Nancy called out, taking a step forward to follow him.
Suddenly, the tranquil peace of the afternoon was shattered by the deafening roar of a modified motorcycle engine accelerating along the park’s outer boulevard.
Anias’s head snapped toward the noise in a microsecond.
A black street bike with two riders clad in full helmets and dark jackets jumped the pedestrian curb, tearing across the manicured lawn directly toward the pond.
The passenger drew a compact submachine gun from beneath his leather jacket, raising the barrel toward Nancy and Leland.
“Get down!” Anias roared, his voice carrying the terrifying authority of a thunderclap.
He didn't hesitate for a heartbeat.
Anias launched his body forward across the grass, wrapping his massive frame around Nancy and slamming her to the turf, while simultaneously pulling Leland beneath his chest.
A hail of gunfire erupted, tearing through the peaceful park with deafening, rhythmic cracks.
Bullets shredded the bark of the weeping willows and ripped the grass inches from their heads.
A sharp, searing pain tore across Anias’s left shoulder as a round grazed through his wool coat, slicing deep into the muscle and flesh beneath.
Anias grunted, clenching his teeth so hard he tasted copper, but he did not shift an inch, keeping his body as an impenetrable human shield over his weeping wife and child.
Leland screamed in terror, pressing his small hands against his father’s chest as the smell of gunpowder filled the air.
From across the path, Carmine and the perimeter guards opened fire with ruthless precision.
Carmine fired three rapid rounds through the motorcycle’s front tire, sending the bike flipping violently across the grass in a shower of sparks and dirt.
The two assassins skidded across the pavement, their weapons clattering away.
Before the shooters could recover, Carmine and the security detail swarmed them, pressing their boots into their backs and disarming them instantly.
Silence returned to the park, save for the distant sound of approaching police sirens and the frantic crying of the child.
Anias slowly pushed himself up on one arm, his face pale from the adrenaline and the bleeding wound on his shoulder.
He looked down beneath him, checking every inch of Nancy and Leland with frantic, searching eyes.
“Are you hurt?” Anias gasped, his voice ragged.
“Nancy, look at me! Leland, are you bleeding?”
Nancy pushed herself up, her clothes covered in grass and dirt, her hands trembling as she saw the bright crimson blood soaking through Anias’s dark coat.
“Anias, you’re shot!” she screamed, tears of horror flooding her eyes.
Leland reached out with tiny, trembling fingers, pressing his small palm against the warm blood on his father’s torn sleeve.
“Papa! Don’t sleep, Papa!” the little boy sobbed, his voice breaking into hysterical hiccups.
Anias ignored the burning fire in his shoulder, reaching down with his uninjured arm to scoop his crying son into his chest.
He kissed the top of the boy’s head, whispering fiercely into his hair.
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“Papa is right here, little lion,” Anias vowed, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage as he looked toward the captured assassins.
“Papa is never going anywhere.”
