Chapter 6 - The Rhode Island Sanctuary
Chapter 6 - The Rhode Island Sanctuary
The transit to Rhode Island was executed under the cover of a massive thunderstorm that hit New England at midnight. We didn't use the highways; Marco drove us through a series of winding, unlit backroads in a heavily armored delivery van that smelled of new tires and industrial grease. Sofia sat beside me, her small hand locked in mine, her face pale but calm. She was wearing a soft grey tracksuit Maria had given her, the blood-stained uniform now sealed in a steel box in the front seat.
The estate in Rhode Island was nothing like the historic mansion in Boston. It was a modern architectural marvel—a massive structure of glass, raw concrete, and black iron built onto the edge of a cliff overlooking the roaring Atlantic Ocean. The property was surrounded by a ten-foot concrete wall lined with razor wire and private guards with German Shepherds.
"Welcome to the Safe House, ma'am," Marco said as the heavy iron gates slid shut behind us. "The Don personally designed this place five years ago after the war with the Albanians. There are enough supplies in the basement to last six months without a single delivery."
The interior was warm, minimalist, and completely silent except for the distant, thunderous crash of the waves against the rocks below. A middle-aged woman named Angela greeted us at the door, her face kind and welcoming as she led Sofia toward a bedroom that looked out over the stormy sea.
For three weeks, our life became a routine of high-security isolation. Sofia spent her days with a private tutor Luca had hired to keep her up with her schoolwork, her trauma slowly fading into a quiet, watchful maturity. She didn't talk about the alley anymore, but she spent hours standing by the glass walls, watching the grey waves break against the cliffs.
I spent my time in the central monitoring room, watching the security feeds from Boston that Marco updated every twelve hours.
The war had begun.
The screens showed a systematic, brutal dismantling of the Chen Syndicate. Every night, another warehouse went up in flames, another shipment of fentanyl was seized by the coast guard on anonymous tips, and another high-ranking lieutenant was found dead in the North End. Luca was using the ledger with surgical precision, turning the city’s legal and criminal systems against Jimmy Chen all at once.
But the victories came with a cost. One evening, Marco came into the kitchen, his face grim, a heavy bandage wrapped tightly around his left forearm.
"Is he okay?" I asked, my voice shaking as I dropped the knife I was using to chop vegetables. "Luca. Is he hit?"
Marco sat at the island, letting out a heavy, weary sigh.
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"The Don is fine, Mia. But Chen is getting desperate. He launched a grenade attack at The Vanguard last night. The club is gone. Completely burned out. Luca was out before the blast, but three of our guards didn't make it. Chen knows he’s losing, which means he’s going to do something stupid soon. He’s looking for the girl. He knows she’s the one holding the ledger keys."
I pressed my back against the counter, a cold, heavy guilt settling into my chest. The Vanguard. My home for two years. The place where I had first seen Luca’s dark eyes across the crowded bar. It was gone, turned to ash because I had knocked on a mafia boss's door at midnight.
