Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING
The recoil of the gun sent a shockwave up my arm.
The bullet took Enzo in the shoulder, spinning him violently. He screamed, dropping his weapon.
All hell broke loose.
Enzo’s men raised their rifles, but before they could fire, Luca and Damiano’s men breached the warehouse from the skylights and side doors, raining suppressive fire down on them.
Damiano didn't dive for cover. Despite his injury, he lunged forward, tackling Enzo to the concrete floor.
I ran to Dot, frantically untying the thick ropes binding her wrists. "Claire, you crazy girl," Dot wheezed, coughing. "I told you to run."
"I'm done running, Dot," I cried, hauling her to her feet. "Luca! Get her out of here!"
Luca grabbed Dot, shielding her as they ran toward the exit.
In the center of the room, Damiano and Enzo were locked in a brutal, bloody struggle. Enzo, though wounded, was desperate. He managed to pull a combat knife from his boot, slashing wildly at Damiano.
The blade caught Damiano’s side. Damiano grunted, stumbling back, his strength finally failing from the blood loss of two wounds.
Enzo stood over him, raising the knife for a killing blow.
"Damiano!" I screamed, raising my gun again. But my hands were shaking too hard, and Enzo was too close to him. If I fired, I might hit Damiano.
Damiano looked up at Enzo, his eyes cold and dead. "You broke my family, Enzo," Damiano whispered.
With a surge of final, terrifying strength, Damiano reached up, caught Enzo's wrist, and twisted it with a sickening snap. Enzo dropped the knife. Damiano swept Enzo’s legs out from under him, pinned him to the ground, and pulled his own backup weapon from his ankle holster.
He pressed the barrel under Enzo's chin.
"Wait!" Enzo choked out, blood spilling from his mouth. "Wait, Damiano! It wasn't just me! I didn't order the hit on you today!"
Damiano hesitated, the gun trembling against Enzo's jaw. "Who?"
Enzo smiled, a bloody, horrific grin. "Uncle Carlo. He never wanted to step down. He used me to flush you out. And right now... Uncle Carlo is visiting Father Thomas."
Damiano’s face went completely slack.
Nico.
The gunshot rang out, deafening in the echoing warehouse. Damiano didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, ending Enzo's life in a single second.
He scrambled to his feet, swaying heavily. "Sienna!" he roared. "The church!"
We ran. Damiano drove this time, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. He pushed the SUV to eighty miles an hour through the rain-slicked city streets, ignoring red lights and blaring horns.
"He won't hurt a child in a church," I prayed aloud, clutching the dashboard. "He wouldn't."
"Carlo has no boundaries," Damiano choked out. "If he wants to end my bloodline, he'll do it on the altar."
We careened into the plaza of St. Jude's, the tires screeching as Damiano slammed on the brakes. The front doors of the church were wide open, banging against the stone pillars in the wind.
Damiano sprinted up the steps, kicking the doors wide.
I followed right behind him, my heart in my throat.
The sanctuary was empty. The pews were silent.
But at the front, kneeling by the altar, was Father Thomas. He was clutching his ribs, bleeding from a blow to the head.
"Father!" Damiano shouted, sliding to his knees beside the old priest. "Where is he? Where is my son?"
Father Thomas coughed, pointing a trembling hand toward the back sacristy doors. "He took him, Damiano. Carlo took him. He said... he said he would trade the boy for the ring."
Damiano froze.
The ring. The Rocca family signet ring. The absolute symbol of power within the syndicate. Whoever wore it commanded the loyalty of the entire criminal empire. Damiano wore it on his right hand.
"He's in the crypts," Father Thomas wheezed. "Hurry."
Damiano stood up. He looked at me, his gray eyes utterly resolved. He pulled the heavy, gold signet ring off his finger.
"I'm getting our son back," he said.
We ran down the narrow stone stairs into the catacombs beneath the church. The air was cold and smelled of dust and old incense.
At the end of the long stone hallway, standing in front of the Rocca family mausoleum, was Uncle Carlo. He was holding Nico by the collar of his shirt. Nico was crying silently, clutching the wooden rosary to his chest.
"Ah, Damiano," Carlo echoed, his voice slick with false warmth. "You survived. What a shame."
"Let him go, Carlo," Damiano commanded. He held up the gold signet ring. "This is what you want. Take it."
Carlo sneered. "Toss it."
Damiano threw the heavy gold ring. It clattered across the stone floor, stopping at Carlo's feet.
Carlo bent down, picking it up with greedy eyes. As he did, his grip on Nico loosened just a fraction.
"Run, Nico!" I screamed.
Nico broke free, sprinting toward us. Damiano lunged forward, catching Nico in his arms and spinning to shield him with his own body.
Carlo raised his gun, aiming at Damiano's back.
But Carlo had been so focused on the ring, he hadn't noticed Luca and three of Damiano's men slipping through the side entrance of the crypts.
A hail of gunfire erupted. Carlo fell before he could even pull the trigger, the gold ring slipping from his dead fingers and rolling into the darkness.
May you like
Damiano held Nico against his chest, burying his face in his son's hair. I wrapped my arms around both of them, sinking to the cold stone floor, sobbing with sheer relief.
"I got you," Damiano whispered into Nico's curls. "Papa’s got you. You're safe."
