Chapter 7 - The Reckoning at DawnThe heavy iron doors of Saint Augustine’s Chapel blew inward with a deafening blast of C4 explosives. Splintered wood and white smoke filled the damp morning air as a dozen heavily armed mercenaries in tactical gear swarmed into the nave, raising their assault rifles.
"Clear the aisles!" a gruff voice roared from the smoke. "Leave no survivors! Burn the whole damn place down!"
They pushed past the rows of empty pews, expecting cowering victims. Instead, they found absolute silence.
The stained-glass windows filtered the pale morning light into eerie shades of crimson and violet.
Click.
From the elevated stone balcony above the altar, Dominic Vale stepped into view, holding a customized assault rifle across his chest. Behind him, six Vale enforcers aimed down at the intruders.
"Welcome to Boston," Dominic’s voice echoed coldly through the cavernous chapel.
The mercenaries spun around, lifting their barrels, but it was already too late.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Crossfire erupted from the upper gallery, raining down with terrifying precision. Bullets shredded the marble floor and shattered the pews. Within seconds, half of Salvatore’s strike team dropped, writhing in pain.
"Flank them! Get to the stairs!" the lead mercenary screamed, firing wildly into the dark balcony.
Suddenly, a heavy side door burst open. Noah Grant and his enforcers charged into the nave from the rear, cutting off their retreat completely. Caught in a brutal crossfire, the Chicago mercenaries were systematically dismantled, their weapons clattering against the stone floor one by one.
Within four minutes, the chapel fell dead silent, save for the crackling of a small electrical fire near the entrance and the heavy breathing of the victors.
Dominic walked down the stone stairs from the balcony, his boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. He stopped in front of the surviving lead mercenary, who was pinned beneath a heavy wooden bench, bleeding heavily from the shoulder.
Dominic crouched down, pressing the muzzle of his gun against the man’s forehead.
"Tell Salvatore," Dominic whispered, his voice dangerously soft, "that Boston belongs to the Vales. And anyone who touches what is mine will find a permanent grave beneath this chapel."
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The mercenary coughed up blood, nodding frantically before passing out.
Dominic stood up, wiping a speck of dust from his sleeve. "Noah. Clean this up. Make sure the children are still asleep."
