Chapter 9 - A MOTHER'S FURY
Pandemonium erupted on the docks. Rossi's sniper panicked, squeezing off a shot that sparked violently against the armored hood of Declan's car. Gunfire broke out as the FBI engaged Rossi's henchmen in a furious shootout across the container yard.
Rossi, desperate and cornered, scrambled behind a forklift, sprinting toward a parked speed boat tied to the pier.
Declan broke into a dead sprint through the crossfire, vaulting over wooden crates with lethal athletic grace. He cornered Rossi at the edge of the wooden slipway, tackling the older mobster to the wet planks.
Rossi drew a hidden snub-nosed revolver, pressing it toward Declan’s ribs, but Declan caught his wrist, twisting it until the bone cracked with a sickening snap. The revolver clattered across the wood and splashed into the dark ocean below.
"It's over, Sal," Declan growled, planting his knee into the old man's chest.
Back at the Hudson estate, Marin sat in the living room watching the emergency news broadcast on the television screen: Massive Federal Raid at Long Island Docks—Historic Bust of Rossi Crime Syndicate.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She snatched it up with trembling fingers.
"Declan?" she gasped.
"It's done, Marin," his voice came through the speaker, ragged, breathless, but alive. "Rossi is in federal custody. The entire syndicate has been dismantled. It's over. We're safe."
Tears streamed down Marin’s face as a massive weight, carried for eight long years, dissolved from her chest. Across the room, Evan was sound asleep on the couch, hugging a plush toy airplane Declan had bought for him that afternoon.
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"Come home," Marin whispered into the phone. "Please... just come home."
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