Chapter 8 - Fire and Blood
The Red Hook grain silo was an abandoned industrial monster rising out of the mist at the edge of the dark harbor.
Inside, Beatrice was tied to an iron chair in the center of a cavernous, rusting floor. Blood trickled down the side of her temple where the rifle had struck her, and her hands were bound tightly behind her back with heavy zipties.
Mateo Moretti sat on a wooden crate ten feet away, smoking a cigarette while six heavily armed men stood guard around the perimeter.
"He won't come for you, you know," Moretti taunted, tossing his cigarette butt onto the damp concrete. "Dominic Russo is a businessman. He doesn't sacrifice his empire for a servant."
Beatrice raised her head. Despite the blinding pain in her skull, her eyes flared with defiance. "Dominic Russo is twice the man you will ever be. He’s going to kill you."
Moretti laughed—a harsh, mocking sound.
Before the laugh could echo across the metallic walls, the massive corrugated iron doors of the silo blew inward with a deafening roar.
C4 explosives tore the steel from its frame. Smoke and fire erupted into the room.
Through the blazing doorway walked Dominic Russo.
He wasn't wearing a tuxedo. He wasn't acting like a businessman. He was a demon unleashed from hell. Dressed in dark tactical gear, twin handguns raised, he moved through the smoke with terrifying speed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Before Moretti’s guards could raise their rifles, three of them hit the ground, dead before their bodies clicked against the concrete. Marco and a dozen Russo enforcers poured in behind Dominic, engaging the remaining guards in a chaotic exchange of automatic fire.
Moretti panicked. He scrambled backward, pulling a heavy revolver from his belt and rushing toward Beatrice. He grabbed her from behind, pulling her chair back and pressing the cold barrel of the gun against her temple.
"Stop!" Moretti screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. "Stop or I blow her head off!"
The gunfire ceased instantly. The cavernous room fell deathly silent, filled only with the smell of gunpowder and burning metal.
Dominic stopped ten feet away. He lowered his weapons slightly, but his eyes were locked onto Moretti.
"Put the gun down, Mateo," Dominic said. His voice was terrifyingly calm—a low, rhythmic purr that promised total annihilation.
"Back off, Russo!" Moretti spat, pulling Beatrice tighter against his chest. "Give me safe passage out of the city and control of the docks, or the nanny dies right here!"
Beatrice looked at Dominic through her blurred vision. She saw the raw, agony-filled desperation hidden behind his cold eyes. He was terrified. Not of Moretti, not of death, but of losing her.
In that moment, Beatrice knew with absolute certainty that he loved her.
"Do it, Dominic," Beatrice gasped out, her voice loud and clear. "Don't give him anything!"
"Shut up, bitch!" Moretti yelled, shifting his weight slightly to tighten his grip on her neck.
That split-second distraction was all Beatrice needed. Remembering her sheer mass and strength, she drove her heavy elbow backward with all the power in her body, slamming it directly into Moretti’s solar plexus.
Moretti gasped, staggering backward, the gun slipping an inch from her temple.
Dominic didn't hesitate.
BANG.
A single shot fired from Dominic’s pistol. The bullet struck Moretti precisely between the eyes. The rival don collapsed backward like a sack of stones, dead before he hit the dirt.
Dominic dropped his gun and sprinted across the concrete floor.
He fell to his knees before Beatrice, his trembling hands pulling a tactical knife to slice through her wrist bindings. The moment her hands were free, Dominic gathered her into his arms, pulling her tightly against his pounding chest.
He buried his face in her neck, his body shaking violently with dry, agonized sobs.
"Bee... Bee, I'm sorry," he wept openly, utterly unconcerned with his men watching from the shadows. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her bleeding temple, her lips. "I'm so sorry. I almost lost you. I almost lost you..."
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Beatrice wrapped her arms around his back, holding him with all her strength. "I'm here, Dominic. I'm here."
"I love you," Dominic whispered into her skin, his voice raw with four years of buried emotion. "I love you, Beatrice. God help me, I can't breathe without you."
