Chapter 4 - The Betrayal WithinThe rusted latch clicked open with a sound like a gunshot in the silent, dust-choked room.
Dr. Hale shrank back against the wall behind the iron cot, his hands pressed tightly over his mouth to stifle his breathing. Cara froze, her eyes locked on the narrow gap of the doorway as it slowly widened.
A large, broad-shouldered silhouette stepped into the dim beam of the flashlight.
It was Vincent Costello. But the man who had screamed for vengeance in the trauma bay was gone. In his place stood a cold, calculating executioner. He held a suppressed Sig Sauer pistol loosely at his side, the metal catching a sliver of pale moonlight filtering through the dirty, barred window.
Vincent looked down at the empty floor, then slowly raised his gaze to the iron cot.
A slow, chilling smile spread across his scarred face.
"Well, well," Vincent murmured, his voice low and devoid of any warmth. "I always knew you were too stubborn to die easily, boss. Even when Arthur signed the certificate with a nice, fat bribe waiting in his offshore account."
Dr. Hale let out a small, terrified whimper from the corner. Vincent didn't even bother looking at him.
"Vincent," Dominic said, his voice remarkably steady for a man who had lost half his blood two hours ago. He didn't move from the cot, but his right hand remained buried beneath the pillow. "You miscalculated. You thought Lorenzo would take the blame, and you’d inherit the docks, the clubs, and the cartel pipelines by sunrise."
"Lorenzo is a fool, Dominic, and you were getting soft," Vincent replied, stepping closer, raising the pistol until it was pointed squarely at Dominic’s chest. "You wanted to go legitimate. You wanted to sell off the protection rings and invest in downtown real estate like some corporate CEO. You were going to ruin everything we spent fifteen years building in the desert heat."
"And you thought a bullet to the heart would stop the machine?" Dominic’s eyes flashed with pure venom.
"No," Vincent smiled, shifting his gaze toward Cara, who stood paralyzed near the door. "I knew a bullet wouldn't. But I also knew a rookie nurse with a hero complex would try to save you—giving me the perfect excuse to hunt down both of you and tie up every loose end before the feds even finished their morning coffee."
Vincent cocked the pistol. "Any last words, boss?"
"Just one," Dominic whispered. "Look behind you."
Vincent sneered. "Nice try, Dominic—"
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Before he could finish the sentence, the heavy steel door behind Vincent slammed violently shut, knocking him off balance. From the shadows of the hallway, a second figure stepped forward, the barrel of a shotgun pressed firmly against the back of Vincent’s skull.
"Drop the gun, Vince," a cold voice growled. "Or I blow your head clean off before you can say 'boss'."
