Chapter 4 - The Ambush on the Bridge
The convoy of four black armored Cadillac Escalades moved through the Manhattan traffic toward the Brooklyn Bridge. I sat in the reinforced rear seat of the center vehicle, Ethan beside me, watching the side mirrors with focused paranoia.
"How did you hide for seven months?" Ethan asked quietly, looking at my hands resting in my lap.
"I didn't use credit cards. I didn't contact our old friends," I answered, looking out the tinted window. "My father left me an off-the-grid trust fund in Vermont before he passed away. I wanted a normal life, Ethan. I wanted to take our daughter to the park without checking the rooftops for snipers."
"There is no normal life for a Romano, Bella," Ethan said with quiet sorrow. "I tried to build walls thick enough to keep you safe."
"Walls are a prison, Ethan."
Before he could reply, a deafening blast shattered the afternoon air.
A heavy cement mixing truck rammed into the lead Escalade at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge ramp, flipping the armored SUV onto its roof in a hail of sparks.
"Ambush!" Marco yelled from the front passenger seat, drawing his weapon. "Multiple vehicles approaching from the rear!"
Two black vans screeched to a halt behind us, their sliding doors popping open to reveal masked gunmen wielding automatic rifles.
Bullets hammered against our vehicle's ballistic glass with the deafening sound of a thousand hammers.
"Get down!" Ethan roared, lunging across the seat and wrapping his massive frame entirely over my pregnant body, shielding me and our baby with his own flesh and heavy wool coat.
The car rocked violently as our driver slammed the vehicle into reverse, ramming through the attackers' blockade.
Ethan reached beneath the console, pulling a customized tactical submachine gun. He lowered the side window three inches, fired a precise burst into the engine block of the pursuing van, and brought the vehicle to a screeching halt.
As our driver sped onto the expressway, Ethan pulled himself up, checking my face with trembling, frantic hands.
"Are you hit?! Bella, look at me—is the baby okay?!"
"We're okay... we're okay," I gasped, clutching my stomach as adrenaline surged through my veins.
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Then I looked at Ethan’s left shoulder.
A thick, dark stain of crimson blood was soaking through his black cashmere coat where a rifle round had grazed through the window seam.
