Chapter 8 - THE STANDOFF ON THE ROOF
The freezing rain felt like needles against Santiago’s skin, but the cold was nothing compared to the ice in his veins.
He stepped fully onto the roof, letting the heavy steel door slam shut behind him.
Leo stood on the narrow concrete ledge, his scarred face illuminated by a jagged flash of lightning. He looked like a gargoyle, terrifying and immovable. Mateo hung suspended over the black void, his small hands desperately clawing at Leo’s massive, unyielding forearm.
"Daddy!" Mateo screamed, his voice raw and terrified, swallowed by the howling wind. "I want my daddy!"
Santiago didn't reach for his gun. He raised both of his hands, empty, palms facing outward.
"Put the boy down, Leo," Santiago yelled over the storm, his voice steady despite the agonizing pain tearing through his chest. "You won. You proved you're the strongest. You don't need to do this."
Leo threw his head back and laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that barely carried over the thunder.
"I don't want to be the strongest, Santiago!" Leo roared, his one good eye blazing with a lifetime of resentment. "I want what was mine! The old man promised me the empire. I bled for it! I did all the dirty work while you went to business school and played the gentleman!"
"He didn't give it to me because I was a gentleman," Santiago shouted back, taking one slow, deliberate step forward across the slick tar roof. "He gave it to me because he knew you couldn't handle the guilt."
Leo’s sneer faltered for a fraction of a second. "What are you talking about?"
Santiago lowered his right hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cheap wooden rosary.
He held it up in the pouring rain. The wooden beads clicked softly against each other.
"I found this in the hallway, Leo," Santiago yelled. "Mom's rosary. You dropped it when you were running."
Leo stared at the dangling beads. The absolute malice in his posture wavered. The scarred giant suddenly looked incredibly vulnerable.
"Give that back," Leo demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. He pulled Mateo slightly closer to the ledge, tightening his grip on the boy's collar.
"I know you didn't kill him, Leo," Santiago continued, taking another slow step closer. He was thirty feet away. "I know you didn't plant the car bomb that killed our father."
"The whole city thinks I did," Leo spat, shaking his head. "Even you thought I did."
"I did," Santiago admitted, the rain washing the blood down his bare chest. "Because it was easier to believe my brother was a monster than to face the truth. But you carry her rosary. You couldn't have killed him. You loved him too much, even when he broke your heart."
Leo’s grip on the boy trembled. A profound, agonizing sorrow washed over his scarred face. "He looked me in the eye, Santiago. The night before he died. He looked me in the eye and told me I was broken. That I was too violent. That I would burn the family to the ground."
"He was wrong," Santiago said softly, stepping closer. Twenty feet. "You aren't broken, Leo. You're just angry. But you don't hurt kids. That's not who we are."
Leo looked down at the sobbing five-year-old dangling from his hand. He looked at the terrifying drop.
For the first time that night, hesitation flickered in the giant's eyes.
Suddenly, the roof access door burst open with a deafening crash.
Vincent exploded onto the roof, his stolen assault rifle raised, panting heavily, blood streaming down his face. He had heard the screams from the stairwell.
"Mateo!" Vincent roared, seeing his son hanging over the edge. He leveled the rifle directly at Leo's head. "Put him down, you son of a bitch, or I will blow your head clean off your shoulders!"
"Vincent, no!" Santiago shouted, throwing his body directly into the line of fire, blocking Vincent's shot.
"Move, Santiago!" Vincent screamed, completely blinded by panic. "He's going to drop him!"
"He's my brother, Vincent," Santiago said, standing his ground, ignoring the rifle pointed at his own back. He looked past Vincent, locking eyes with Leo on the ledge. "He's not going to drop him. Are you, Leo?"
Leo stared at Santiago, who was shielding him from a certain death. He looked at the brother who had taken his throne, the brother he had hated for six years, now standing unarmed in the rain, offering him the one thing he had always wanted: trust.
Leo’s scarred face softened. A heavy, shuddering breath escaped his chest.
He slowly pivoted on the wet concrete.
He didn't push the boy. He pulled his massive arm back, hauling Mateo safely over the ledge and setting the sobbing child gently down on the solid roof.
Mateo immediately scrambled away, running as fast as his little legs could carry him toward his father.
Vincent dropped the rifle, falling to his knees on the wet tar, and caught his son in a fierce, crushing embrace, sobbing uncontrollably into the boy's wet hair.
Santiago let out a breath he felt like he had been holding for years. He took a step toward Leo, holding out the wooden rosary.
"Come down, Leo," Santiago said gently. "It's over. Let's go home."
Leo looked at the rosary. He reached out his massive, scarred hand to take it.
Before his fingers could touch the wood, the heavy metal door of the roof stairwell clanged loudly.
Everyone froze.
Stepping out into the rain, holding a high-powered, suppressed sniper rifle, was a tall man in a tailored, expensive raincoat.
It wasn't a mercenary. It wasn't Clara's men.
It was Police Commissioner Thomas Vance. The man who was supposed to be the city's highest authority.
"Well, this is a touching family reunion," Commissioner Vance sneered, raising the rifle and resting the stock against his shoulder. He aimed the crosshairs directly at Santiago's chest. "But I'm afraid the script called for a tragedy tonight."
Santiago stared at the Commissioner, the final piece of the puzzle violently locking into place.
"You," Santiago whispered. "You planted the car bomb that killed my father six years ago."
"Guilty as charged," Vance smiled, the rain slicking his gray hair. "The old man was getting too greedy. He wouldn't pay the new union tariffs. I had to remove him. And when Leo conveniently disappeared in his own fiery crash, it was the perfect cover story."
Vance adjusted his grip on the rifle.
"But you, Santiago, you're a survivor. You survived the poison today. You survived the mercenaries. I realized I was going to have to come up here and finish the job myself. I can't have you waking up and asking questions about who really runs this city."
Vincent was too far away, completely unarmed, shielding his son.
Santiago had no cover. He had no weapon. He stood completely exposed in the rain.
"Goodbye, Santiago," Commissioner Vance said, his finger tightening on the trigger.
The suppressed rifle spat a deadly, quiet pfft.
But the bullet didn't hit Santiago.
A massive, heavy body slammed violently into Santiago from the side, knocking him hard to the wet tar just as the shot was fired.
Santiago hit the ground, gasping in pain as his wound tore completely open. He looked up, his vision swimming.
Leo had lunged off the ledge.
He had thrown himself directly in the path of the bullet.
Leo collapsed onto his back, a massive, fatal wound in the center of his chest, right where his heart used to beat with so much anger.
"Leo!" Santiago screamed, scrambling across the wet roof, ignoring his own dying body.
Commissioner Vance cursed, racking the bolt of his rifle to load another round.
Before he could aim, a deafening, unsilenced gunshot shattered the storm.
Vance’s head snapped back. He dropped the rifle, his eyes rolling back in his head, and crumpled dead to the roof.
Santiago turned around.
Standing in the doorway of the stairwell, panting heavily, holding a smoking police-issue revolver she had scavenged from a dead cop downstairs, was Sarah.
The nurse lowered the gun, her hands shaking violently, but her eyes fierce and unyielding.
Santiago didn't have time to thank her. He turned back to his brother.
Leo was choking on his own blood, the rain washing over his scarred face. Santiago pulled him into his arms, cradling his heavy head.
"Leo. Hold on. We'll get a doctor," Santiago choked out, tears finally breaking through his stoic mask.
Leo smiled weakly, a bloody, peaceful expression. He reached up with a trembling hand and pressed the wooden rosary firmly into Santiago's palm.
"You keep it, little brother," Leo whispered, his voice fading into the storm. "I don't need it anymore. I'm going to see Mom."
May you like
Leo’s scarred face went slack. His single good eye stared up at the stormy sky, completely devoid of anger for the first time in his life.
He was gone.
