Chapter 8 - The Underworld War
“Step away from the boat,” the Chief ordered, nodding to his men. “The child comes with us. Valerio’s buyers in South America love little girls with high-society bloodlines.”
My blood ran colder than the Pacific ocean. I pulled Mia behind me, shielding her with my body. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
“That was always the plan, Doctor,” the Chief smiled, raising his gun to my forehead.
BANG.
A bullet ripped through the Chief’s throat from the darkness of the forest behind us. He collapsed into the freezing water of the harbor. The two armed men turned, but before they could raise their weapons, continuous suppressed gunfire cut them down in seconds.
Out from the shadows of the pine trees stepped a shadow, dripping with blood and seawater.
Dante.
He was limping severely, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side, his face covered in gashes and gravel, but he was breathing. He stumbled onto the dock, dropping his empty rifle into the wooden planks.
“Dante!” I sobbed, running to catch him as his legs gave out.
He fell to his knees on the pier, catching himself with his good arm, coughing up dark blood onto my shoes. Mia ran out from behind me, dropping her teddy bear, and threw her little arms around his blood-soaked neck.
“Daddy?” she whispered, using the word for the very first time.
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Dante froze. The terrifying crime lord of Seattle crumbled into a broken, weeping man, pressing his forehead against our six-year-old daughter’s shoulder while tears cut clean tracks through the dirt on his face.
“I’m here, baby,” Dante choked out, his voice a broken whisper. “Daddy’s here.”
