Chapter 37 - The Sins of the Father
The blast shook the foundations of Greenwich.
The antique propane line ruptured with a deafening roar, turning the interior of the stone chapel into an inferno. Stained-glass saints shattered into a million dazzling shards of crimson and gold, raining down upon the manicured lawns.
The two mercenaries in the aisle were thrown backward into the pews by the shockwave, their weapons spinning uselessly across the marble. Miller didn't hesitate; moving with terrifying, mechanical precision, he fired two double-taps through the billowing black smoke, neutralizing both targets before they could regain their footing.
"Move!" Julian shouted, grabbing my jacket and pulling me out through the blown-out side portal of the chapel.
The night air was freezing, thick with the smell of scorched pine and burning slate. Fifty yards away, near the carriage house, the lead Suburban was taking heavy fire. Sparks ricocheted off the reinforced ballistic glass. Through the rear tinted window, I saw the pale, terrified face of Maya, her hands clamped over her ears, screaming silently.
A mercenary stepped out from behind a stone pillar, raising an assault rifle directly toward the vehicle’s fuel tank.
Julian didn't think. He didn't issue a warning. He sprinted across the open courtyard, breaking cover entirely, drawing his own sidearm. He fired three rapid shots, forcing the shooter to tuck behind a concrete birdbath.
"Julian, look out!" I screamed.
From the second-story balcony of the carriage house, a second gunman appeared. The crack of a single high-caliber rifle shot split the air.
Julian’s body jerked violently. He stumbled, a dark stain instantly blossoming across the left shoulder of his tailored coat, but he didn't fall. With sheer, stubborn willpower, he leveled his gun with his uninjured right hand and fired twice into the balcony. The shooter collapsed over the wooden rail, crashing heavily onto the stone driveway below.
Miller reached the Suburban first, throwing open the driver’s side door. "Get in! Move, move, move!"
I sprinted across the gravel, diving toward Julian. I caught him under the arms as his knees finally buckled, the hot, metallic smell of his blood filling my senses. "I've got you. I've got you, Julian!"
"Maya..." he coughed, his face pale as chalk, teeth gritted in agony. "Get her out of here, Claire. Don't look back."
"I am not leaving you behind!"
With strength I didn't know I possessed, I dragged him across the remaining ten feet of gravel and shoved him into the rear passenger seat of the armored Suburban. I piled in behind him, slamming the heavy ballistic door shut just as another volley of bullets hammered against the exterior armor like hail on a tin roof.
Maya threw herself into my lap, sobbing violently, her small arms wrapping around my neck. "Mommy! Mommy! The bad men are shooting!"
"I've got you, baby. Mommy's here. You're safe," I whispered into her hair, holding her down against the floorboards as Miller floored the accelerator.
The Suburban’s tires shrieked against the wet pavement. We crashed straight through the estate’s secondary wooden gate, splintering it into kindling, and rocketed out onto the winding, fog-drenched curves of North Street.
Behind us, rising above the tree line, the Greenwich chapel was engulfed in a towering column of orange flame.
And standing on the edge of the burning courtyard, illuminated by the destruction of his ancestral home, was the silhouette of Charles Delacroix. He had climbed out of the crypt. He was standing alone in the rain, watching his empire burn to the ground, holding neither fortune nor family—just a ghost stranded in the wreckage of his own hatred.
I turned away from the rear window and tore off my scarf, pressing it down hard onto Julian’s shoulder wound. He groaned, his head lolling against the leather headrest, his breathing shallow and ragged.
"Press hard," Julian whispered through blue lips, trying to smile. "I’m... I’m billable by the hour, Claire. Don't let me bleed out on your upholstery."
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"Shut up, Julian," I said, tears streaming down my face as I leaned over him, holding my daughter with one hand and keeping him alive with the other. "You're going to live. We’re going to end this tonight."
***
