Chapter 7 - Blood and Reckoning
Olivia’s words cracked the tension like lightning hitting an open field.
Marcus’s eyes flickered toward the six-year-old girl in momentary shock.
That fraction of a second was all Grace needed.
With a feral cry, Grace drove her heel down into the instep of the mercenary holding her, simultaneously throwing her head backward into his nose. Cartilage crunched. The man stumbled, his grip slipping from her neck.
Grace dropped low, seized an empty heavy vintage wine bottle from the bottom bin, and smashed it across the mercenary's temple. He collapsed like a puppet with severed strings.
"Down!" I screamed.
Olivia pulled her sisters flat against the concrete floor.
Marcus swung the revolver toward me, his face twisted in madness.
I didn't dive for cover. I raised the Kimber with both hands, stepping directly into his line of fire to shield my daughters with my own flesh.
Two gunshots roared simultaneously, the muzzle flashes blinding in the subterranean dark.
A bullet slammed into my right ribcage, cracking bone and knocking the breath from my lungs. The pain was immediate, sharp, and suffocating.
Marcus’s bullet found me.
But mine found him.
My round struck Marcus Vance squarely in his left shoulder, shattering the joint and sending his revolver skittering across the flagstones. He stumbled back against the brick archway of the tunnel, clutching his bleeding arm, screaming in agony.
The third mercenary raised his submachine gun toward Grace.
I didn't aim for his center mass. I fired my final two rounds into his knees. He went down with a roar of pain, crashing onto the stone floor, his weapon clattering harmlessly away into the darkness.
The cellar went completely silent, save for the ragged, choking gasps of dying and wounded men.
I stood there, swaying on my feet. Blood was soaking through my shirt, running hot down my side. I dropped the empty Kimber, its slide locked back.
I walked forward.
Each step left a dark crimson smear on the cellar floor.
Marcus was slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting in his own blood. He looked up at me as I towered over him, the arrogance and swagger completely burned away, leaving only the pathetic worm who had murdered a mother in front of her children.
"Dominic..." he wheezed, raising his bloody hands. "Please... we were brothers... we built this..."
I didn't say a word.
I knelt down in front of him. I reached out, grabbed his left pinky finger, and twisted it violently until the bone snapped again. Marcus screamed, a high, piercing wail that bounced off the cold stone.
I pulled the silver wolf ring off his finger.
I held the ring in front of his face, letting the emerald eyes catch the faint light.
"Isabelle was worth a thousand of you," I said softly.
I drew my combat knife from my boot.
Marcus began to sob, babbling incoherently, begging for mercy he had never shown to a young mother pleading for her babies' lives.
"You told my daughters you would cut their tongues out," I whispered. "You told them you would come into their rooms at night."
I leaned in, my face inches from his.
"You will never touch a child again."
I drove the knife home.
One clean, lethal thrust directly through the sternum, severing the aorta.
Marcus’s eyes widened in shock. His breath hitched once, twice, and then went still. His head lolled to the side, his lifeless gaze staring into the darkness of the cellar.
It was over.
The monster was dead.
I pulled the knife free, wiped the blade on his lapel, and dropped it to the floor.
Then my legs gave out.
I collapsed onto the cold stone, the blood loss finally catching up to my consciousness. My vision swam with gray spots. My ribs burned like fire.
"Dominic!"
Warm hands caught my shoulders. Grace dropped to her knees beside me, pressing her torn apron against the gunshot wound in my side. Her hands were covered in my blood, but her touch was gentle, desperate.
"Stay with me!" Grace pleaded, her voice shaking for the first time. "Dominic, look at me! Keep your eyes open!"
Footsteps pattered across the stone.
Small hands touched my face.
Olivia was on my left, tears streaming down her cheeks, pressing her small palms against my cheek. Sophie was on my right, clutching my coat. And little Nora crawled into my lap, burying her face into my bloody shirt, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck.
"Daddy," Nora sobbed. "Daddy, don't sleep. Stay with us."
"I'm here, baby," I rasped, lifting my heavy hand to stroke her soft curls. "I'm right here. Daddy's not going anywhere."
"You saved us," Olivia whispered, kissing my temple. "The bad man is gone."
"He's gone," I promised, looking up into Grace’s tear-filled gray eyes. She was pressing down on my wound with all her strength, refusing to let me slip away. "Grace..."
"Save your breath, you stubborn idiot," Grace choked out, a fierce smile breaking through her tears. "You're going to live. You have three daughters to raise. And you owe me two months of back pay."
Despite the agony tearing through my chest, I let out a weak, bloody laugh.
Far above us, the sirens of loyal reinforcements led by Frank Valenti began to wail down the long driveway.
May you like
The fortress had fallen, but the family was alive.
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