Chapter 4 - THE RIVER OF RETRIBUTION
The tunnel was narrow, slippery, and echoed with the distant, muffled sound of gunshots from above.
Clara and Sophia ran through the damp darkness, guided only by the small flashlight built into Clara’s phone. The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing colder and smelling heavily of river water and wet moss.
After five agonizing minutes of running, they reached the end of the corridor. A wooden door opened out into the interior of the private boathouse.
The Hudson River churned outside, black and wild under the midnight rain. Tied to the wooden dock inside the shelter was a sleek, thirty-foot black matte motorboat, its twin engines gleaming under the dim overhead lights.
"We made it," Clara panted, leaning against the wooden frame to catch her breath, her chest burning. "We made it, Sophia."
Sophia stood on the dock, looking back down the dark tunnel they had just exited. Her small face was filled with intense worry.
"Where is Daddy?" Sophia asked, her voice tight. "He promised."
Clara looked back toward the tunnel entrance. She knew Dante was fighting off an army above. Even a man as powerful as the Harbor King couldn't survive thirty armed mercenaries forever.
"He's coming, sweetie," Clara assured her, though her own heart was heavy with doubt. "We have to get the boat ready."
Clara stepped onto the boat, helping Sophia aboard into the carpeted cabin. She located the ignition key hanging on a hook near the steering wheel, turning it. The twin V8 engines roared to life with a deep, powerful throb that vibrated through the wooden dock.
Suddenly, the wooden door at the tunnel entrance slammed open.
Clara reached for her gun, her heart leaping into her throat.
A figure stumbled out of the tunnel, leaning heavily against the stone wall. His black coat was torn, soaked in water and dark blood. He moved with a heavy, painful limp, holding his left side.
Dante.
"Daddy!" Sophia shrieked, running toward the stern of the boat.
Dante looked up, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He gave a weak, bloodied smile as he saw his daughter safe on the vessel.
"I told you... I don't break promises, baby," Dante wheezed out, staggering across the wooden dock toward them.
Behind him, emerging from the dark tunnel, came Julian.
Julian looked like a ghost returned from hell. His suit was ruined, drenched in his own blood from his shoulder wounds, his eyes wide and insane with pure, unadulterated madness. He held an automatic rifle in his hands, pointing it directly at Dante’s back.
"DANTE!" Julian shrieked, his voice echoing crazily through the boathouse. "YOU DON'T GET TO WIN! YOU DON'T GET YOUR DAUGHTER!"
Dante turned slowly, his eyes narrowing into cold slits of sheer fury. But he was out of ammunition. His tactical belt was empty, his hands bloody.
Julian raised the rifle, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"NO!" Clara screamed from the boat cockpit.
She slammed the boat’s throttle full forward.
The thirty-foot vessel lunged backward with terrifying power, its twin propellers churning the river water into a violent foam. The heavy stern of the boat slammed into the wooden support pillars of the dock directly beneath Julian’s feet.
CRACK! SHATTER!
The aged wooden structure collapsed instantly into the churning water. Julian screamed in shock as the floorboards gave way beneath him, sending him tumbling violently into the freezing, dark river currents below.
The heavy wooden beams and iron roof framework collapsed on top of him, crushing the dark water into a frothing mess of splinters and foam before Julian could even fire a single shot.
The river swallowed him whole.
Dante, who had managed to jump onto the concrete lip near the tunnel exit just in time, watched the debris float away down the rushing current.
Clara quickly shifted the throttle back to neutral, guiding the boat beside the concrete ledge.
"Dante! Get in!" Clara yelled over the roar of the engines.
Dante hauled his bruised, battered body over the gunwale of the boat, tumbling onto the deck carpet. Sophia threw herself onto his chest, sobbing hysterically as she buried her face in his jacket.
Dante wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hair over and over again, before looking up at Clara, who sat at the helm with her hands firmly on the wheel.
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"Get us out of here, Clara," Dante rasped softly, a look of profound, eternal gratitude in his eyes. "Take us home."
Clara slammed the throttle forward, and the sleek vessel burst out of the crumbling boathouse into the open, vast waters of the Hudson River, leaving the burning estate and three years of darkness far behind in the night.
