Chapter 8 - The Ambush on the Bridge
By Thursday morning,
the atmosphere in New York had turned completely toxic.
News of Carmine’s sudden 'disappearance' had reached the underground,
and the Romanov syndicate was moving quickly to claim the vacant territories.
Gabriel decided to call an emergency meeting of all district captains in lower Manhattan.
We traveled in an armored motorcade—three black SUVs with bulletproof glass and reinforced steel plating.
I sat in the back of the center vehicle next to Gabriel.
He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit,
his lapels sharp,
his hair combed back,
looking like an emperor going to war.
I wore a dark blazer over my medical scrubs,
holding a medical bag stocked with trauma gear on my lap.
"You shouldn't be coming to this meeting,"
Gabriel said,
staring out the dark tinted window as we crossed the Queensboro Bridge.
"It's going to be ugly."
"I'm your primary care nurse,"
I replied stubbornly,
checking my stock of morphine and pressure bandages.
"If your blood pressure spikes because some mid-level thug gives you attitude,"
"I need to be there to poke you with a needle."
Gabriel looked over at me,
the faint ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"You enjoy threatening me with needles way too much."
"It's the only power I have over you,"
I grinned.
Suddenly,
a massive explosion shook the bridge floor.
The lead SUV in our motorcade burst into a wall of bright orange flame,
flipping completely into the air and crashing onto its roof.
"Ambush!"
the driver shouted,
slamming on the brakes.
Our heavy vehicle screeched to a halt,
tires burning against the asphalt.
Before the smoke could clear,
two heavy black trucks rammed into our rear SUV,
pinning us on the narrow bridge lane.
Armed men in black tactical gear poured out from the trucks,
opening fire on our vehicle with armor-piercing rounds.
The sound of heavy bullets slamming into our reinforced windows sounded like hail beating against a tin roof.
Sparks showered across the hood.
"Stay down!"
Gabriel roared,
grabbing my neck and pulling me flat across the rear seats,
covering my body with his torso.
"Vincent!"
Gabriel yelled into his comms unit.
"Status!"
"We're pinned on the lower deck!"
Vincent’s voice crackled through the static over the radio.
"They've blocked both exits!"
"They have a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on the lead truck!"
"The glass won't hold for more than sixty seconds!"
I looked up through the spiderwebbed glass of the side window.
A heavy bullet cracked the outer layer of the bulletproof pane right above Gabriel’s head.
"Gabriel,"
I gasped,
my mind racing through survival logistics.
"The emergency release lever under your seat!"
"This model has an undercarriage drop hatch for aquatic escape!"
Gabriel blinked in surprise.
"How do you know that?"
"I read the vehicle safety manual in your glove compartment while you were sleeping yesterday!"
I yelled back over the deafening sound of gunfire.
Gabriel didn't waste a second.
He reached down beneath his seat,
found the hidden mechanical lever,
and pulled it with all his strength.
The floor beneath our feet released with a loud mechanical hiss,
dropping a hatch down to the metal bridge grating below the vehicle.
"Go!"
Gabriel commanded,
shoving me toward the opening.
"I can't leave you!"
I screamed,
grabbing his arm.
"You can't use the hatch alone!"
"Maya,
go!"
"I'm not leaving you to die on a bridge!"
I shouted back,
my stubbornness overpowering my sheer terror.
I grabbed the emergency transfer harness from my medical kit,
snapped the steel carabiners onto his tactical belt,
and locked the secondary straps around my own shoulders.
With a surge of adrenaline I didn't know I possessed,
I dragged Gabriel through the hatch just as a heavy armor-piercing round shattered the driver's side window above us.
We tumbled down through the gap,
landing hard on the iron catwalk beneath the bridge deck,
May you like
suspended sixty feet above the dark,
churning waters of the East River.
