Chapter 6 - THE WAGES OF SIN
I dove behind a rusted shipping container as bullets sparked against the wet concrete where I had just been standing. The deafening roar of automatic weapons echoed through the yard.
I drew my own pistol from my waist and peered around the edge of the steel box.
Above, on the catwalk, absolute chaos had broken out. Tony had taken down two of Carlo's men before taking a bullet to the shoulder. He had dragged Leo behind a heavy steel winch, shielding the boy with his own body.
Carlo was screaming orders, firing blindly toward Tony's position. Sophia was nowhere to be seen; she had crawled away in the confusion.
“Tony!” I shouted, firing three precise shots at the remaining guards. Two dropped. The third scrambled for cover.
“I’ve got him, Boss!” Tony yelled back, his voice strained with pain. “But they’re flanking us on the stairs!”
I broke from cover, sprinting through the heavy rain toward the rusty iron staircase that led up to the catwalk. Carlo saw me coming. He leaned over the railing, aiming his weapon down at me.
I didn't stop running. I fired on the move.
My bullet hit the metal railing inches from Carlo’s hand, sending a shower of sparks and shrapnel into his face. He screamed, dropping his gun and clutching his eyes.
I hit the stairs, taking them three at a time. When I reached the top, Carlo was on his knees, blood pouring through his fingers.
I kicked his weapon off the edge into the darkness below.
“It’s over, Carlo,” I breathed, aiming my gun directly at his chest.
He looked up at me, his face ruined, his eyes filled with terrified realization. “Vincent, wait. We’re blood. We’re brothers.”
“Brothers don't sell each other out,” I said coldly. “Brothers don't torture a pregnant woman for ten years.”
“If you kill me, the Commission will hunt you forever!” he pleaded, spitting blood onto the metal grating.
“Let them come,” I said.
Before I could pull the trigger, a sharp, cold voice rang out from the far end of the catwalk.
“Drop it, Vincent.”
I turned.
Sophia was standing there. She looked drenched, her expensive dress clinging to her, her hair plastered to her face. But it wasn't the rain that made my heart stop.
It was what she was holding.
She had Ethan. Her own son. She had a knife pressed to the ten-year-old boy’s throat.
“Aunt Sophia, please,” Ethan sobbed, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. “You’re hurting me.”
“Shut up!” she screamed, her hands shaking violently. She looked at me, her eyes wide with madness. “You let Carlo walk, or I swear to God, Vincent, I’ll kill him.”
I stared at her, completely appalled. “He’s your son, Sophia. Yours and Carlo’s. Evelyn kept the birth certificate. I know the truth.”
Sophia let out a wet, hysterical laugh. “You think I care? This brat was nothing but a bargaining chip! He was supposed to be my ticket into the family, but Carlo wouldn't claim a bastard. So we used him to break Evelyn. He’s worthless to me now.”
Carlo groaned from the floor. “Sophia... don't. He’s my boy.”
“You shut up too!” she shrieked at Carlo. She pressed the blade harder against Ethan’s neck. A thin line of blood appeared. “Drop the gun, Vincent! Kick it over here!”
I looked at Ethan. The boy who had thought I was his father just an hour ago. The boy who was being used as a shield by his own mother.
I slowly lowered my weapon.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Okay, Sophia. You win.”
I bent down to place the gun on the grating. But as I did, my hand brushed against something cold and hard in my coat pocket.
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The heavy silver money clip Carlo had given Ethan. The one the boy had handed to me in the hospital.
I grabbed it. And as I stood up, I didn't drop my gun. I threw the heavy silver clip straight at Sophia’s face with every ounce of strength I had.
