Chapter 7 - THE ROSARY
Vincent Moretti stepped fully into the cottage, the floorboards groaning under his expensive Italian leather shoes. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver rosary, wrapping it around his free hand. A grotesque habit of a man who believed God forgave murder if you prayed beforehand.
"The book, Dominic," Vincent demanded.
Dominic stood slowly, keeping Claire entirely behind his broad frame. He held the heavy leather ledger in his left hand. His right hand hovered near his hip, where his glock rested. But the odds were impossible. Three rifles. One pistol.
"You're making a mistake, Vincent," Dominic said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. The voice he hadn't used in two years. "You fire a shot in here, my men will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
"Your men are currently dealing with a coordinated strike on your docks," Vincent laughed. "Marcus gave us all your security codes before you shot him. You're alone, Dominic. It's over."
Dominic felt Claire’s hand grip the back of his jacket. Not a flinch. A solid, grounding touch.
"I'll give you the book," Dominic said. "Let my wife walk out that door. She has nothing to do with this."
"She knows too much," Vincent said. "She dies."
Dominic’s eyes darkened. "Then nobody gets the book."
In one sudden, explosive movement, Dominic hurled the heavy ledger straight at the old, rotting window facing the ocean. The glass shattered, and the book flew out into the violent, crashing waves below the cliff.
Vincent screamed in fury, turning his gun toward the window.
It was the only distraction Dominic needed. He drew his weapon and fired twice. The first bullet took the man on Vincent's left in the chest; the second shattered Vincent’s shoulder.
The room erupted in deafening gunfire.
Dominic tackled Claire to the floor, rolling them behind the heavy stone fireplace as bullets chewed through the wooden walls and completely destroyed the furniture. Dust and splinters rained down on them.
"Stay down!" Dominic yelled over the noise.
He leaned around the stone, returning fire. He clipped one of the riflemen in the knee, sending him crashing to the floor. But the last man was moving in, laying down suppressing fire that kept Dominic pinned.
He was down to three bullets.
"Dominic," Claire gasped. She was holding her shoulder, her face white with pain from the dive, but her eyes were clear. She pointed to the ceiling above the gunmen.
The old iron chandelier. The rusted chain was bolted directly into a rotting support beam right above where the gunmen were advancing.
Dominic understood instantly. He aimed his weapon not at the men, but upward.
He fired his last three rounds into the rusted iron bolt holding the chain.
With a metallic screech, the bolt gave way. The massive iron chandelier plummeted, crashing directly onto the remaining gunman and pinning him to the floor.
Vincent, clutching his bleeding shoulder, stumbled backward toward the open door, his face pale with shock. He dropped his gun and ran.
Dominic didn't chase him. He dropped the empty magazine from his gun and turned to Claire.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, running his hands frantically over her arms and legs.
"No," she breathed, pulling herself up. "I'm okay. But the book... Dominic, you threw it in the ocean! The evidence is gone."
Dominic stared at her for a moment, then reached into the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled out a sleek, black USB drive.
"I've been in the logistics business a long time, Claire," Dominic said, a small, tight smile touching his lips. "I never transport cargo without making a digital copy first."
When he had crouched down to examine the book by the fireplace, he had taken ten seconds to slip a micro-scanner over the most important pages, transferring the data to his drive. He had thrown the physical book to create the distraction.
Claire stared at him, then let out a breath that sounded half like a laugh and half like a sob.
"Let's go home," Dominic said.
May you like
But as they walked out of the ruined cottage, a black SUV suddenly blocked the driveway. The doors flew open, and federal agents poured out, weapons drawn.
"FBI! Put your hands where we can see them!"
