Chapter 8 - THE BLOOD OF THE BORDERBefore Vance’s thumb could press the detonator, a sharp, metallic CLICK sounded from directly behind him on the high catwalk.
“I wouldn't press that button if I were you, Director,” a rough, familiar voice growled from the shadows behind the tactical guards.
Vance froze.
Stepping out from behind a heavy iron support pillar on the catwalk, covered in blood, holding a heavy tactical shotgun pointed directly at the back of Vance’s head, was Marco.
He was alive.
“Marco...” Alessandro breathed, a rare flicker of genuine relief crossing his face.
“Told you I’d hold the lift, Boss,” Marco grinned darkly, his face smeared with soot. “Bunker held up just fine. And I brought some friends from the neighborhood.”
High above the glass roof of the freight terminal, the sound of multiple heavy industrial engines suddenly thundered through the air.
CRASH!
The massive glass skylights shattered into a million sparkling shards as four black armored SUVs belonging to the remaining loyal members of the Moretti family smashed through the upper perimeter gates, pinning Vance’s tactical guards against the steel railings.
Dozen of loyal Moretti enforcers poured out of the vehicles, weapons raised, completely surrounding the catwalk from every elevated angle.
Director Vance’s face turned from smug arrogance to absolute, pale horror.
“You... you can't do this!” Vance stammered, dropping the satellite detonator as Marco grabbed him by his collar, forcing him to his knees on the iron catwalk. “I am a Federal Director!”
“You were a director,” Alessandro called up, his voice echoing through the massive depot like a judge passing a final sentence. “Now you’re just a traitor who killed a good man for money.”
Alessandro looked up at Marco. “Hand him over to the Interpol unit waiting at the gate. Let him spend the rest of his miserable life in a maximum-security cell in France.”
“With pleasure, Boss,” Marco grunted, slamming Vance’s face against the iron railing and locking heavy steel cuffs around his wrists.
The remaining tactical guards dropped their weapons, raising their hands in total surrender as the loyal Moretti enforcers secured the depot.
The heavy, suffocating cloud of fear that had hung over my life for the past forty-eight hours finally dissolved. I collapsed onto my knees on the cold concrete platform, burying my face in my hands, weeping silently as the adrenaline left my system.
I felt a pair of tiny arms wrap tightly around my neck.
“Don't cry, Mommy,” Emma whispered soft against my ear, her little hand patting my shoulder. “The bad men are gone now. Mr. Bunny said so.”
I pulled my daughter into my arms, holding her as tightly as I could, kissing her soft cheeks over and over again.
Alessandro walked over, kneeling down beside us on the platform. He didn't say anything at first. He simply reached out and gently wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of his thumb.
“It’s over, Claire,” Alessandro said, his gray eyes softer than I had ever seen them. “You’re safe. Emma is safe. Julian’s war is finished.”
I looked into his eyes, seeing not the terrifying mob boss who commanded twelve crime families, but the man who had honored his promise to a dead partner and protected a widowed mother and her child against an entire corrupt world.
“What happens now?” I asked softly.
May you like
Alessandro stood up, extending his hand to pull me up once more.
“Now,” Alessandro smiled gently, looking out at the morning sun breaking through the shattered glass roof, “Villa Moretti needs a new beginning. And I believe I need a new head of estate management who actually knows how to run a household.”
