Chapter 15 - Blood Across the Hardwood The study turned into a charnel house in seconds. Three armed mercenaries rushed through the smoking wreckage of the doorway, their assault rifles sweeping the room for targets. Nico met them with disciplined, suppressive fire, dropping the lead operator before a hail of return fire forced him to dive behind the massive granite fireplace.
Bullets chewed through the priceless bookshelves, sending centuries-old leather-bound volumes and shards of wood flying through the air.
From behind the heavy oak desk, Leo raised the heavy .38 revolver with both hands. He didn't hesitate. He waited until the second mercenary stepped past the shattered threshold, caught in the crossfire, and pulled the trigger. The heavy recoil nearly knocked the boy off his feet, but the bullet found its mark, striking the operative in the shoulder and sending him crashing against the wall.
"Not bad for a street rat," a cold, grating voice echoed from the shattered doorway.
Stepping through the smoke was Dominic Moretti—the ruthless boss of the South Side gun-running rings who had survived the purge three months prior by playing a double game. He held a suppressed automatic pistol aimed directly at the desk where Leo stood.
"Moretti," Nico hissed from behind the fireplace, unable to get a clean shot without exposing himself to Moretti's crossfire.
"Drop the gun, kid," Moretti sneered, stepping further into the ruined study, his eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. "Your father is miles away, trapped in a hole in Indiana, and your little reign as the crown prince of Chicago is about to end right here on this expensive rug."
Leo lowered the revolver an inch, his dark eyes locking onto Moretti’s face with unblinking intensity.
"My father taught me one very important rule about this city," Leo said, his voice steady, cold, and entirely devoid of fear.
"Oh yeah?" Moretti laughed, tightening his finger on the trigger. "And what's that?"
"Never leave a witness who knows your name."
May you like
Before Moretti could process the warning, the floorboards beneath his feet groaned as a deafening explosion ripped through the ceiling of the room directly below them. The secret floor hatch—the one leading directly from the underground escape tunnel to the study—flew open, and a single, armored figure emerged from the smoke like a wrathful god.
Dante Vatello had returned.
