Chapter 3: The Hit That Went Wrong
The first knock on the door came at 7:12 a.m., soft at first, then louder, more insistent. Victor had just fallen asleep on the couch, Elena curled up next to him, when the sound jolted him awake. He grabbed his gun from the coffee table, pushed Elena behind him, and crept toward the front door, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. He peered through the peephole, and his blood ran cold. Standing on the porch were three men, all of them wearing black hoodies, all of them holding guns, their faces hidden. He recognized one of them, Jake Miller, a lieutenant who’d worked for Richard for 10 years. They’d tracked them. Richard hadn’t waited. He’d sent his hitmen to kill them before they could even figure out their next move.
Victor turned to Elena, his voice low, urgent. “They’re here. Richard sent people to kill us. Go to the panic room in the basement. Now. I’ll hold them off.” Elena shook her head, grabbing his arm. “I’m not leaving you,” she said. “We go together, or we don’t go at all.” Victor’s heart ached. He’d never met anyone as brave as her. He nodded, grabbing her hand, and led her through the kitchen, down the stairs to the basement, where the panic room was, a 10x10 foot steel room with a bulletproof door, enough food and water to last a month, and a separate escape tunnel that led to the bodega next door. He unlocked the door, pushed her inside, and was about to follow her when he heard the front door crash open. The hitmen were inside. “Go through the tunnel,” he shouted to Elena. “I’ll meet you at the bodega. Go.” Elena hesitated, then turned, running through the tunnel, her footsteps echoing in the dark.
Victor turned, raised his gun, and fired a shot at the first man who came down the basement stairs, hitting him in the shoulder. The man grunted, falling back, and Victor fired another shot, hitting Jake in the leg. The two remaining men scattered, taking cover behind the washing machine and the water heater, firing back at Victor, bullets whizzing past his head, hitting the concrete walls. He’d been in dozens of gunfights, but this one was different. This time, he had something to lose. He had Elena to protect. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. He reloaded his gun, peeked out from behind the stairs, and fired another shot, hitting one of the men in the chest, killing him instantly. Jake, who was still bleeding from the leg, raised his gun, firing a shot at Victor, which grazed his arm, burning like fire. Victor grunted, fired a shot back, hitting Jake in the head, killing him. The third man, the only one left, tried to run up the stairs, but Victor fired a shot, hitting him in the back, killing him before he could get out the door.
The room went silent. The only sound was the sound of Victor’s heavy breathing, the blood seeping from the wound in his arm, and the sound of Elena’s voice, calling his name from the tunnel. “Victor? Victor, are you okay?” He walked over to the tunnel opening, his voice weak. “I’m okay. I’m coming.” Elena ran out of the tunnel, throwing her arms around him, crying when she saw the blood on his shirt. “You’re hurt,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s just a scratch,” he said, smiling, even though the wound was deep, the blood pouring down his arm. “We need to get out of here. The police will be here soon. Someone must have heard the gunshots.” Elena nodded, helping him wrap a towel around his arm to stop the bleeding, and they ran out of the safe house, through the back alley, to the subway station, where they caught a train to Manhattan, to another safe house Victor had in the East Village, a small apartment above a coffee shop that no one knew about.
They spent the next two days at the East Village apartment, Elena patching up Victor’s arm, the wound deep enough that it needed stitches, but they couldn’t go to a hospital, couldn’t risk Richard finding them. They went through all of the files they’d found on Leo’s phone, compiling everything they had on Richard’s fentanyl ring, all the bank transfers, all the texts, all the emails that proved what he was planning. Victor had a contact in the FBI, a agent named Sarah Jenkins who he’d been working with for three years, leaking information about the Voss family’s operations, trying to take them down from the inside. He’d always planned to flip, to give the FBI all the proof they needed to put Richard away for life, in exchange for immunity, for a chance to start over with Elena. He called Sarah on the third day, telling her he had all the proof she needed, that he was ready to make a deal.
Sarah met them at a coffee shop in Greenwich Village, a small, crowded place where no one would notice them. She was 38, a former marine, with a reputation for being tough, for taking down some of the biggest crime families in New York. She sat down across from them, looking at Victor’s arm, which was still bandaged, and shook her head. “Richard sent hitmen after you?” she asked. Victor nodded. “He found us at the Queens safe house. We barely got out alive. I have everything you need to put him away for life. All the bank records, all the proof of the fentanyl ring. I want immunity for me and Elena. I want witness protection. I want to start over. That’s my only condition.” Sarah nodded, flipping through the files Victor had given her, her eyes widening as she saw how much proof they had. “This is enough to put Richard and everyone who works for him away for life,” she said. “The deal is good. Immunity for both of you. Witness protection. You can start over anywhere you want. But we need to move fast. Richard is going to be looking for you. We need to take him down before he finds you again.”
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They planned the raid for that night. The FBI would storm the Voss compound at midnight, arrest Richard and all of his lieutenants, seize all the assets, and shut down the waterfront development deal before it could get off the ground. Elena and Victor would stay at a safe house in Manhattan until the raid was over, then they’d be transferred to a witness protection facility, where they’d get new identities, new lives, far away from New York, far away from the Voss family. Elena sat in the safe house that night, staring out the window at the New York skyline, her mind racing. She was finally going to be free. She was finally going to be able to live the life she’d always dreamed of, with the man she loved. But as she waited for the call from Sarah that the raid was over, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That Richard had another trick up his sleeve. That the nightmare wasn’t over yet.
The call came at 12:47 a.m. Sarah’s voice was panicked, breathless. “The raid went bad,” she said. “Richard knew we were coming. He was gone. All of his lieutenants were gone. The compound was empty. He’s on the run. And he’s coming for you, Victor. He told one of my agents that he’s going to kill you and Elena before he leaves the country. You need to get out of there. Now.” Victor’s face went white. He grabbed his gun, grabbing Elena’s hand, and they ran out of the safe house, just as they heard the sound of sirens in the distance, but these weren’t police sirens. These were the sound of Richard’s men, coming to kill them. They ran through the streets of the East Village, ducking into alleyways, hiding from the cars that were patrolling the streets, looking for them. They finally made it to the waterfront, to a small boat Victor had stored there, a speedboat he’d kept for emergencies, and they climbed in, starting the engine and speeding out into the Hudson River, away from Manhattan, away from Richard, away from everything they’d ever known. As they sped into the dark, Elena looked back at the New York skyline, the lights twinkling behind her, and she knew that the chase was far from over. Richard was still out there. And he wasn’t going to stop until he found them.
