Chapter 7 - The Final Confrontation
Time seemed to fracture into slow motion.
I saw the white-knuckle twitch of Elena’s finger pressing down on the trigger of her silver revolver. I saw the muzzle flash bloom in the dim light of the executive office.
Before I could even register the instinct to duck, Damian moved with blinding, unnatural speed. He lunged across the space between us, throwing his heavy frame in front of me just as the bullet tore through the air.
Thud.
The sound of the round striking flesh echoed sharply through the room. Damian grunted, his body absorbing the impact, stumbling sideways against the mahogany desk while blood began to seep rapidly through the shoulder of his dark suit.
"Damian!" I screamed, catching his arm before he could collapse to the floor.
Across the room, Elena stared in horror at what she had done, her breath coming in ragged, hysterical gasps. She turned the gun toward Arthur Sterling, who was cowering beneath his desk. "Traitor! You gave them the keys!"
"Elena, wait—!" Sterling cried out.
Bang.
Elena fired point-blank into Sterling’s chest, the Chairman slumping over the desk in a lifeless heap of tailored wool and blood.
Before Elena could pivot her revolver back toward us, the heavy mahogany doors behind her exploded inward a second time. Vance and three tactical guards swarmed the room, weapons raised and locked onto her.
"Drop the weapon! Drop it now!" Vance roared, his voice echoing like thunder.
Elena screamed in pure frustration, raising the gun toward the guards, but she never got the chance to fire. A synchronized volley of non-lethal heavy beanbag rounds and taser darts struck her simultaneously. She convulsed violently, her eyes rolling back as the silver revolver clattered uselessly onto the Persian rug. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
"Medic!" Vance shouted into his radio, sprinting across the room. "We need a trauma team in the executive suite immediately! The boss is hit!"
I dropped to my knees beside Damian, pressing my hands frantically against the wound in his shoulder, trying desperately to stem the flow of dark crimson blood staining his shirt.
"You... you idiot," I choked out, tears blurring my vision as I looked into his pale, sweat-slicked face. "Why did you do that?"
Damian let out a weak, pained chuckle, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that defied his fading strength. "Can't... can't let anyone hurt my family twice in one lifetime."
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The word hung in the air between us, heavy and absolute. Family.
"Hold on," I whispered, pressing my palm harder against his shoulder while Vance rushed over with a medical trauma kit. "You're not dying on me, Damian Marchetti. You survived a criminal empire; you can survive a bullet from your crazy ex-wife."
