Chapter 4 - Midnight Ambush
“Down!” Hector roared, kicking the heavy mahogany door open and bursting into the study with a submachine gun in his hands.
Vargas and I dropped to the floor as a hail of bullets tore through the room, shredding the leather armchairs, shattering oil paintings, and tearing plaster from the walls. The lights flickered and died, plunging the study into darkness lit only by the violent, strobing flashes of gunfire outside.
“They breached the front gate!” Hector shouted over the deafening noise. “It’s a hit squad! At least twenty men, heavily armed! They came in armored trucks!”
“Gabriel,” Vargas snarled, pulling a heavy nickel-plated pistol from his desk drawer. “The bastard finally made his move.”
I stayed low, feeling the smooth steel of my own concealed firearm pressed against my ribs. My heart was pounding like a war drum, but four years of Hector’s brutal training took over instantly. Panic didn't enter my mind; only cold, tactical focus.
“We can’t fight our way out through the main hall,” I said, crawling toward the shattered window to observe the tactical situation. Outside, bright orange muzzle flashes illuminated the rain-slick courtyard. Vargas’s guards were being cut down, overwhelmed by superior numbers and heavy weaponry. “They’ve set up a crossfire on the driveway. They want us to run for the cars.”
“There’s an escape tunnel in the wine cellar,” Vargas ordered, coughing as smoke began to pour into the room. “It leads to the river drainage system half a mile away.”
“Go!” I yelled. “Hector, get the Don to the basement! I’ll cover the stairwell!”
“Are you crazy, kid?” Hector barked. “You’re seventeen!”
“I’m the target!” I shouted back, grabbing the silver vault key from the desk and shoving it deep into my inner pocket. “Gabriel wants me dead so the Mendoza bloodline dies! If I make noise on the upper floor, they’ll concentrate on me, giving you time to get Vargas out!”
Vargas looked at me through the smoke. For the first time in five years, I saw a flicker of emotion in the old boss’s eyes—pride mixed with fierce concern.
“Do not die, Aurelio,” Vargas said grimly. “The city needs a Mendoza.”
“I’ll meet you at the old river pier,” I said.
Without waiting for an answer, I darted out into the hallway as bullets continued to rake the upper level. I pulled my pistol, flicked off the safety, and fired three controlled shots down the grand staircase, dropping the first gunman who was advancing up the stairs.
The intruder slumped backward down the steps. The remaining attackers paused, surprised by the precise counter-fire from above.
“He’s up there!” a voice shouted from the foyer below. It was Gabriel’s chief enforcer, a hulking sadist named Marco. “Kill the boy! Gabriel wants his head!”
I ducked behind a thick marble pillar as a fresh volley of bullets chipped away the stone, showering me with dust. I counted the gunshots in my head, tracking the reload cycles of the men below.
One... two... three guns empty.
I popped out from behind the pillar, firing four rapid shots. Two more men dropped into the foyer. I sprinted down the adjoining side corridor, leading the main group of attackers away from the hidden door to the wine cellar.
Behind me, I heard the heavy, muffled thud of explosives detonating in the courtyard. Fire was spreading rapidly through the east wing of the villa. Smoke filled my lungs, making my eyes burn, but I kept moving, utilizing every secret passage and shadowed alcove I had spent years memorizing.
I reached the second-floor balcony overlooking the rear gardens. Below, rain was pouring in sheets. I took a deep breath, vaulted over the marble railing, and leaped into the darkness.
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I slammed hard onto the wet grass twelve feet below, rolling instantly to absorb the shock. Pain shot through my left shoulder, but I ignored it, scrambling to my feet and dashing into the thick trees that lined the perimeter wall.
Behind me, the great mansion of Don Mateo Vargas was swallowed in flames, lighting up the midnight sky in brilliant shades of orange and blood-red.
