Chapter 30 #2
“Swap positions with Lev, Kolya,” Kirill ordered. “We’re almost to the bridge.”
I sped up while Lev slowed down and rolled behind me. I was catching up to Kirill’s Porsche when metal crashing into metal took out one of our attackers’ SUVs and caused a chain reaction. I glanced briefly in the rearview mirror, and Lev barely avoided the ensuing pileup.
“What the hell was that?” I yelled.
“Cassano. The Italians came through,” Kirill muttered.
Dimitri erupted in maniacal laughter. “The Italians sure know how to make a grand entrance.”
While we made it to the George Washington Bridge, Rurik and the other bratva were yelling amidst the brassy sound of ear-splitting automatic weapons. Kirill was already grumbling that he would need to call in favors to cover up the war zone and reminded everyone to wear their balaclavas.
Crossing the bridge, I followed Kirill closely and heard him ask Ilya if the FDR was still open.
Where it turned tricky was to take the FDR or 9A but we made a unanimous decision to use the FDR. Though it had more traffic than the 9A, we eliminated the need to move from the west side of Manhattan to the east, reducing ambush points.
I saw smoke before an explosion lifted the front of Kirill’s Porche.
“What the fuck?” he shouted before he spun, and my SUV T-boned him, crashing into the back of his vehicle, just shy of hitting Sato’s side.
I slammed on the brakes, but it wasn’t enough, and the ensuing momentum plowed the Porsche and smashed it into the barrier.
Lev’s SUV barely missed mine. This kid must have grown up playing Grand Theft Auto. He was already backing away.
“We have a shooter on the bridge!” Dimitri yelled. “Incoming!”
A deafening noise and jolt rocked our vehicle.
“Chloe, are you all right?” I growled as I reversed the SUV and saw my opening onto the Harlem River Dr.
I heard a hoarse “yes.”
“Go, go, go,” Kirill shouted. “I’m gonna smoke this fucker. Take Lev. Don’t worry about us. Rurik is on his way with the Italians.”
“Welcome to New York!” Trevor Hayes’s voice came over comms. “I have you on traffic cams.”
“Mask, Chloe.” I pulled down mine just as Dimitri was already covering his face. Too many cameras around Manhattan.
The road was unusually quiet after the pandemonium of the bridge, but I welcomed the lull. I hated leaving Kirill behind, but the whole point of the convoy was to clear the path for me and Chloe to get to Marriage Ink.
“How are the streets, Hayes?”
“So far, the usual suspects on an early Tuesday morning. Our men have reported suspicious activity around the Marriage Ink building. I’ve conferred with Ilya.
The Vozhokari and the hired thugs have exhausted their resources on the Palisades and the bridge.
The Vozhokari numbers are unknown, but we’re counting two more mercenaries unaccounted for.
They should be lurking around Marriage Ink, so keep your eyes open on approach. We have men patrolling.”
“Thanks. Any reports of hostiles on motorcycles?”
A fractured sigh came over the comms. “A few motorcycles out and about. None look suspicious yet.”
“Got it. I’m sending you dashcam footage. See if you can tag the one after us.”
“Copy that.”
Just then, rip-roaring shouts erupted on comms. “Take that, motherfucker.”
“You got the sniper?”
“You bet.” It was Sato who answered. “We’re piling into Rurik’s vehicle and coming after you.”
“Should we wait for them?” Chloe asked.
“No,” Dimitri and I answered in unison.
“We can’t be sitting ducks,” I explained. “De Luccis are backing us up once we exit the FDR.”
He chuckled. “They weren’t expecting the bratva and the Italian mafia to join forces at short notice.”
“We’re almost there, Chloshka.” My eyes were checking every nook and cranny on the barely lit road. Like the Palisades, the FDR had limited entries and exits. Marriage Ink was on 71st Street, before Third Avenue.
Despite the De Luccis backing us, I couldn’t shake the foreboding rattling my cage of calm determination.
The east-to-west cross streets of the Manhattan grid were narrow, frequently under construction, or delivery vehicles were in the way.
But we had no choice, and that was why we preferred to use the FDR; less traffic lights and impediments to get through.
I made the turn onto 71st Street. I didn’t like the way the looming skylines of New York hovered over us in a watchful, sinister way; its never-ending dizzying scaffoldings muddied the view to a would-be attacker.
“Pfft, always under construction,” Dimitri scoffed, voicing my concerns. It was illegal to fly a drone in the city. We depended on hacked surveillance cameras.
The words had barely left his mouth when a commercial truck backed out of a garage bay, swerved, and blocked our path.
I blasted the horn, jaw clenching when another truck blocked us behind Lev’s SUV.
“Get ready, Dima,” I said.
“Finally,” my cousin muttered. “Some action.”
“Chloe?”
“I’m ready.”
I hated how her voice shook on those two words. I couldn’t second-guess my decision to make the run for Marriage Ink.
The gates of the commercial vehicle lifted, and three men started firing their automatic weapons, spraying lead all over our vehicle.
The deafening roar drowned out our communication. The windshield of the Escalade spider-cracked at the onslaught.
Lev and the bratva soldiers were already firing back. Firing high.
I shoved open my door and used it as a shield just as the windshield shattered.
“Get her behind the car!” Dimitri yelled.
Bullets continued to fly. I unloaded at the assailant who appeared beside the truck before I opened Chloe’s door to drag her behind the SUV.
I quickly checked her over. “You all right?”
She managed a squeaked yes. Her pupils were dilated; her eyes were wide. Mouth trembling. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine; she was trying to be brave. I gripped her hands. “I’ve got you, baby. We have a block and a half.”
There was a momentary lull. Then a burst of brass.
“Petrov, tell your man to stop blasting at friendlies,” an annoyed shout echoed through the comms.
I peered behind the SUV. A man in a mask lifted his covering. Dom De Lucci.
Lev was still firing at the attackers who had cornered us from behind.
“Dimitri, they’re on our side.”
Firing from my cousin ceased, though a begrudging huff lifted and lowered his shoulders.
“Follow Dom and his team,” Trevor said. “They’ll be your escort to Margo’s building.”
I hauled Chloe up. “Stay behind me, okay? Dimitri.”
My cousin nodded and covered our backs.
We followed De Lucci’s team and crossed 2nd Avenue.
“FYI, you have three minutes before the cops show up,” Trevor warned.
“Fuck.” No one was going to throw the bunch of us in jail and prevent me from marrying Chloe. As the Marriage Ink entrance came into view, every cord of muscle tightened.
“Motorcycles,” Trevor informed us. “Three bikes, double riders in formation.”
“Hurry!” Dom yelled.
The ominous acceleration of motorcycles was quickly drowned out by the roar of assault weapons.
Chloe was sprinting behind me. Two De Lucci soldiers protected our flanks. Almost there.
“You’ve got one coming at you the wrong way on—” Trevor started.
I spotted it. It was the one from Palisades. She raised her arm to shoot us when an SUV rammed the motorcycle.
Chloe gasped when the wheels of the Suburban crushed the bike and rider. The SUV screeched to a halt, and the driver stepped out.
Even with his mask, Kirill was recognizable to me.
Where the hell did he come from? How did he get here so fast? Did they drive the wrong way too?
“You didn’t think I’d let you get married without your pakhan, did you?”