Chapter 9 - The Price of Redemption
The lower service corridor beneath the pediatric wing was cold, smelling of floor wax and industrial laundry detergents.
Two men in dark tactical jackets stepped off the freight elevator, holding silenced automatic pistols. Before they could clear the doorway, Victor stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.
Double tap.
Two suppressed gunshots echoed like soft pops in the narrow corridor. Both men collapsed to the concrete floor before their brains registered Victor’s presence.
Victor didn't stop. He moved with cold, terrifying precision—the lethal operative he used to be before high-rise penthouses and luxury cars softened his life. He swept through the laundry facility, eliminating two more Carlotti scouts who were attempting to breach the hospital’s master electrical panel.
In the central loading bay, Antonio Carlotti stood beside his armored SUV, wearing a heavy leather coat, holding a satellite phone to his ear.
"Where are the boys?" Carlotti snapped into the phone.
"They're dead, Antonio," Victor’s voice came from the darkness behind the loading dock ramp.
Carlotti spun around, pulling his nickel-plated revolver.
Victor fired three shots.
The first bullet struck Carlotti’s gun hand, shattering the revolver into pieces. The second bullet caught Carlotti in the shoulder, knocking him hard against the steel bumper of his SUV.
Carlotti slid down to his knees, coughing up red blood, staring up at Victor with terrified, wide eyes as Victor walked slowly out of the shadows.
Victor stopped two feet away. He didn't look angry. He didn't look triumphant. He looked exhausted.
"You shouldn't have come to Wisconsin, Antonio," Victor said softly, pointing the barrel of his gun directly at Carlotti’s forehead.
"Victor... wait!" Carlotti gasped, holding up his bleeding hand. "We can talk! Business! Money! I’ll leave Chicago forever!"
"My wife brought my children into this world in peace," Victor whispered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "And nobody... nobody threatens my family ever again."
Pop.
The gun barked once. Antonio Carlotti slumped forward onto the icy concrete of the loading bay, silent and still.
Victor lowered his arm. The heavy silence of the night settled back over the building.
Suddenly, a sharp, burning pain flared in Victor’s side. He reached down with his gloved hand and touched his left ribs. When he pulled his hand back, his glove was soaked in dark, thick crimson. One of the men in the laundry room had gotten off a shot before dying.
Victor stumbled back, leaning his heavy shoulders against the concrete wall. He slid down until he was sitting on the cold floor, looking up at the snow falling outside the open loading bay doors.
Dominic ran into the bay a minute later, his weapon drawn. He saw Carlotti, then saw Victor bleeding against the wall.
"Victor!" Dominic yelled, rushing over and applying pressure to the wound. "Hold on! I’m getting the trauma surgeons down here!"
Victor grabbed Dominic’s coat collar with his remaining strength.
"Dominic... listen to me," Victor rasped, his vision blurring around the edges.
"Don't talk, Victor!"
"Listen!" Victor growled, coughing up a drop of blood. "The ledgers... the offshore accounts... transfer everything into an irrevocable trust for Nora and the twins. Dissolve Rinaldi Global Solutions. Sell the penthouse... sell every piece of land..."
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"Victor, stop—"
"If I survive this..." Victor whispered, his eyes looking up at the white snow falling from the dark sky. "...I don't want an empire. I just want to be a father."
