Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF LOYALTYI dropped to my knees beside Damian, pressing my hands hard against his bleeding shoulder. Crimson blood oozed through his tactical vest, warm and sticky against my fingers.
Damian hissed through his teeth, trying to raise his pistol with his left hand, but one of the Syndicate operatives stepped forward and kicked the weapon out of his reach.
“End it, Viktor,” the lead operative growled, his voice flat through a tactical gas mask. “We have three minutes before the local authorities respond to the explosions.”
Viktor stepped closer, raising his gun, pointing it directly at Damian’s head. His eyes were bloodshot, his face swollen from the beating Damian had given him earlier.
“Eighteen years, Damian,” Viktor sneered, his thumb pulling back the hammer of the pistol. “And you’re going to die in a basement next to a maid.”
Lila stepped out from behind me.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She walked straight up to Viktor, positioned herself directly between his gun and Damian’s head, and looked up into the eyes of the man who was about to murder her protector.
She raised her small hands and signed one simple phrase, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated judgment:
[Bad man. Dark eyes. No heart.]
Viktor hesitated. For a fraction of a second, looking into the clear, innocent eyes of a four-year-old child who showed zero fear in the presence of death, his hand trembled.
That split second was all Damian Volkov needed.
With a roar of pure, primal strength, Damian lunged forward from the floor, grabbing Viktor’s legs and slamming him backward onto the concrete floor with brutal force.
THUD!
Viktor’s head bounced off the stone. The gun flew from his hand.
At the exact same instant, the utility tunnel blast door behind the operatives blew inward with a deafening crash.
BOOM!
A flashbang grenade exploded in a blinding flash of white light and thunderous sound, disorienting the Syndicate operatives.
Through the smoke rushed Marco and three remaining loyal Moretti enforcers, their shotguns roaring in the tight basement space.
BUCK-BUCK-BUCK!
The four Syndicate operatives were cut down in a hail of lead, falling to the concrete floor before they could recover their sight.
Damian scrambled over Viktor’s prone body, retrieved his dropped pistol, and pointed it down at Viktor’s chest.
Viktor coughed up blood, looking up at Damian through swollen eyes. “Damian... please... we were brothers...”
“Brothers don't touch children, Viktor,” Damian whispered.
May you like
BANG.
A single shot echoed through the concrete basement. Viktor went limp, his eyes staring blankly up at the exposed pipes above.
