Chapter 10 - The Shield of a Father
The world spun in a dizzying blur of crimson, gray stone, and falling autumn leaves.
The pain in my chest was unlike anything I had ever felt—a blinding, suffocating fire that tasted of iron and hot lead.
I rolled onto my side, coughing up a mouthful of dark blood onto the wet pavement, my fingers desperately clawing for my fallen pistol.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the ferocious roar of another high-performance engine slamming to a halt at the curb.
Julian Vance leaped from his black sedan, wielding a semi-automatic tactical rifle with terrifying, military precision.
He didn't hesitate for a single second.
Julian fired two controlled, double-tap bursts that dropped the remaining mercenary shooter before the man could clear his jammed submachine gun.
Marcus rounded the hood of our wrecked SUV, firing three precise shots into the driver's compartment of the delivery van, neutralizing the last remaining threat.
The suburban street fell into a sudden, horrific silence, broken only by the hiss of steam pouring from our cracked radiator and the wail of distant sirens echoing from miles away.
I lay on the cold stone walkway, clutching my bleeding chest, my vision tunneling into a narrow circle of gray light.
Footsteps sprinted toward me.
Julian knelt down beside me, his tailored suit trousers pressing directly into the pool of my blood.
He threw his rifle aside and ripped open my coat and silk shirt with two violent tears, pressing his bare hands firmly against the gaping entry wound below my collarbone.
“Hold pressure!” Julian yelled to Marcus, who came sliding across the pavement on his knees. “He’s got a high thoracic entry wound! Lung might be punctured!”
“Call an ambulance!” Marcus shouted in sheer panic, grabbing a wad of clean microfiber towels from his tactical vest.
“No!” I gasped, spitting more blood against the stone, my hand weakly grabbing Julian's wrist. “No... hospital...”
Julian looked down into my eyes, his face pale but completely focused.
“If the police and federal agents process a mafia shootout at this school,” I rasped, struggling for every single syllable as air whistled through my chest, “they will... identify Evelyn... the press will swarm... my mother’s lawyers will use the scandal to take the kids...”
Julian's jaw tightened as the full legal and tactical reality of my words registered in his brilliant mind.
If Adrian Moretti, the king of the Chicago underworld, was found bleeding out on the steps of a Boston preschool, the resulting media circus would destroy Evelyn's anonymity forever.
State child services would immediately seize the children into protective custody amidst the cartel-style warfare.
My sacrifice would have been completely in vain.
“Adrian,” a trembling, broken voice whispered from above.
I forced my heavy eyelids open.
Evelyn was kneeling in the dirt right beside Julian, her hands covered in my blood as she pressed down on my shoulder.
Her face was streaked with tears, her lower lip quivering uncontrollably.
Behind her, through the crack of the heavy school door, I saw little Leo peeking out, his tiny hazel eyes wide with confusion, clutching his wooden toy train against his chest.
He was safe.
Maya was safe.
A faint, bloody smile touched the corners of my lips despite the excruciating agony tearing through my ribs.
“They didn't... touch them...” I whispered, looking up into the eyes of the only woman I had ever truly loved.
“You idiot,” Evelyn wept, pressing her forehead against my blood-soaked hand. “You reckless, arrogant idiot... why did you do that?”
“Because... I owe you... three years of protection...” I coughed weakly, my strength draining away into the cold Massachusetts ground.
Julian looked up at Marcus, his decision made with absolute, executive authority.
“We are not waiting for the city ambulance,” Julian ordered Marcus. “Help me lift him into the back of my sedan right now.”
“Where are we taking him?” Marcus asked, grabbing my legs.
“My estate,” Julian replied grimly, hoisting my upper torso with astonishing strength. “I have a fully equipped private surgical suite in the carriage house, and my personal physician is a retired trauma surgeon from Mass General who owes me his career. He will operate off the books.”
“Julian...” Evelyn looked at her husband with overwhelming gratitude and shock. “Harboring him could destroy your legal license...”
Julian Vance looked down at my bleeding, fading form, then looked back at his wife and the two children standing safely behind the school doors.
May you like
“He took a bullet meant for our children, Evelyn,” Julian said with quiet, unbreakable honor. “On this ground, today, he isn't a mob boss. He's family.”
They lifted me into the leather backseat of Julian's car as the world finally went completely black.
