Chapter 4 - The Extraction and the EmpireThe private rooftop hangar was lashed by howling winds and sheets of freezing November rain. The rotor blades of a black twin-engine helicopter were already spinning, whipping the air into a chaotic storm of noise and flying water.
Alessandro stood by the open cabin door, waving us forward through the deluge, his submachine gun slung across his chest.
Marcus kept his arm wrapped securely around my waist, shielding me from the worst of the wind as we sprinted across the concrete landing pad. My bare foot throbbed with every step, the bandage Marcus had hastily wrapped around my heel soaked through with rain and blood, but I didn't care.
We climbed into the aircraft, and Alessandro slammed the cabin door shut, cutting off the deafening roar of the wind.
Inside, the cabin was warm, lit by a soft amber dashboard glow. Marcus shoved me gently into a leather seat opposite the pilot, grabbing a medical kit from the overhead compartment before dropping down on one knee in front of me.
"Give me your foot," he ordered gently.
"Marcus, we're flying into a war zone, and you're worried about a splinter?" I protested, though I lifted my foot onto his knee anyway.
"Everything about you is my priority now, Elena," he said, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked no argument.
He carefully unwrapped the bloody handkerchief, tossed it into a disposal bin, and began cleaning the wound with sterile antiseptic wipes. His movements were steady, precise, and completely focused, as if the armed men hunting us across New York didn't exist.
As he applied a fresh, waterproof bandage, I looked around the cabin. "Where are we going?"
"My father's old estate in the Hudson Valley," Marcus replied without looking up. "It’s completely off the grid. Heavily fortified, self-sustaining, and isolated by fifty miles of dense forest. No one finds that place unless I want them to."
"And the syndicate?" I asked. "If we run to the country, what happens to your empire in New York?"
Marcus finished securing the bandage, looked up, and offered a slow, cold, devastating smile that showed exactly why men whispered his name with absolute terror across the eastern seaboard.
"I'm not running, Elena," Marcus said softly. "I'm drawing them out."
He stood up, sitting in the leather seat beside me and pulling me against his side so my head rested comfortably on his shoulder.
"For three years, I played defense," he continued, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pressing a warm kiss into my damp hair. "I tried to hide you, protect you, and manage the syndicate without giving our enemies a single opening. But tonight, they crossed a line they can never uncross. They brought blood into our home."
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He turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding vow.
"By the time the sun rises over the Hudson, the Moretti family won't just regret coming after my wife. They're going to wish they had never been born."
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