Chapter 9 - NO QUARTER GIVEN
"Get away from my desk," I growled, keeping the sights of my rifle aimed squarely between his eyes.
Moretti chuckled, a dry, rattling sound like snakeskin on stone. He set the glass down, resting his hand casually on the desk. "You're a stubborn boy. Always were. Your father was a businessman. He understood compromise. You? You're a mad dog. You let a woman turn you into a monster, and when you thought I killed her, you started a war that bled us both dry."
"You ordered the warehouse fire," I said, my finger tightening on the trigger. "You tried to kill her."
"It was nothing personal, Julian. She was leverage. You wouldn't bend the knee, so I tried to break your legs." Moretti sighed, looking around the opulent study. "And now I find out she survived. That she bore you a child. A little girl, Dominic told me. It's a shame they got away. But my men are hunting them. They won't last the night in that storm."
The rage that surged through me wasn't hot and fiery. It was absolute, zero-degree cold. "Your men are dead. Dominic is dead. And you are about to join them."
I pulled the trigger on my rifle.
Click.
A jam. A malfunction at the worst possible second.
Moretti's eyes widened in realization, and he instantly raised his gold-plated revolver, firing wildly.
I dove behind a heavy leather armchair as two massive .44 magnum rounds tore through the upholstery, sending feathers and leather exploding into the air. I tossed the useless rifle aside and drew my Glock, popping up to return fire. I clipped Moretti in the shoulder, spinning him around. He cursed in Italian, dropping behind my heavy oak desk for cover.
"You think you can win this, Julian?" Moretti yelled over the sound of gunfire. "I have reinforcements coming! You have nothing! You are a king of ashes!"
"I prefer ashes to living under your boot!" I yelled back, firing two shots through the wood of the desk, hoping for a lucky penetration, but the oak was too thick.
Suddenly, the door to the study swung open. A Moretti soldier, bloodied and desperate, rushed in, aiming his weapon at my back.
Before he could fire, a shadow dropped from the ceiling rafters. It was Silas. He landed squarely on the soldier's shoulders, driving a combat knife deep into the man's neck. The soldier gurgled and collapsed, Silas rolling gracefully to his feet.
"Need a hand, Boss?" Silas grinned, wiping the blade on his pants.
Moretti, realizing he was suddenly outflanked, panicked. He vaulted over the desk, abandoning his cover, making a desperate run for the secret exit hidden behind the bookshelf—an exit he must have learned about from Dominic.
I didn't shoot him. I holstered my weapon, vaulted the leather chair, and tackled the old Don before he could reach the bookshelf.
We crashed to the floor, rolling into the glass display case that held my antique weapon collection. The glass shattered, raining down on us. Moretti was old, but he was fiercely strong, fueled by pure survival instinct. He swung a heavy fist, catching me in the jaw, his rings slicing open my cheek.
I tasted blood, but I didn't care. I grabbed him by the lapels of his expensive suit, dragging him to his feet, and slammed him brutally against the wall.
"This is for Elena," I snarled, driving my fist into his ribs. I heard a satisfying crack as a bone snapped.
Moretti gasped, his face turning purple. He weakly tried to raise his gun, but I grabbed his wrist, twisting it violently until the bone snapped and the golden revolver dropped to the floor.
"And this," I whispered, my face inches from his terrified eyes, "is for Emma."
I drew the hunting knife from my belt—a gift from my father—and drove it upward, burying it to the hilt just beneath his ribcage, piercing his heart.
Moretti's eyes bulged. He stared at me, his mouth opening in a silent scream, blood bubbling over his lips. I twisted the blade once, then ripped it out, letting his lifeless body slide down the wall, leaving a thick smear of crimson on the expensive wallpaper.
I stood over him, my chest heaving, the knife dripping onto the floor. It was over. The head of the snake was severed.
Vincent walked into the room, leaning heavily on the doorframe, bleeding from a graze on his arm. He looked at the body, then at me.
"The rest of his men are routing," Vincent reported, catching his breath. "Without communication from Moretti, they're panicking. The local police are finally setting up a perimeter down the road. We need to sanitize this place, Julian. Fast."
"Get the cleanup crew," I ordered, wiping the blood from my face. "Bribe the police chief. Double his usual rate. Tell him it was a gas explosion and a home invasion. I don't care how much it costs."
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I turned to Silas. "Silas, prep a medical kit. I'm going to the safe house."
I didn't wait for a response. I walked out of the ruined study, leaving the empire of blood behind me. I had killed the monsters. Now, it was time to go find my family.
