Chapter 5 - BLOOD ON THE DOCKS
The penthouse erupted in deafening violence. Renzo flipped the massive oak dining table, using its heavy timber as a barricade just as the first volley of bullets shattered the floor-to-ceiling windows. Glass rained down like diamond dust, the howling wind of the harbor rushing into the pristine room.
Renzo fired back, two precise, rhythmic shots that dropped the lead enforcer instantly. He knew these men—they were Arthur’s private muscle, ex-mercenaries who cared nothing for mafia code, only for a paycheck. But they had underestimated a man who had clawed his way out of the slums with his bare hands.
Moving with terrifying speed, Renzo flanked them through the kitchen, using the shadows. He took out the second man with a brutal strike from a heavy cast-iron pan he pulled from the rack, breaking his jaw, then turned his weapon on the third. Blood stained the Italian marble. The smell of cordite and ozone choked the air.
Suddenly, a heavy arm wrapped around Renzo’s throat from behind. The fourth man, a giant of a bruiser, squeezed tight, cutting off his air. The fifth man aimed his weapon squarely at Renzo’s chest, grinning through bloodstained teeth.
"Arthur says goodbye, Castellane," the gunman sneered.
A sharp, deafening CRACK echoed through the room.
The gunman dropped his weapon, falling to his knees with a scream, clutching a shattered kneecap. The giant holding Renzo froze in shock. Renzo used the distraction to drive his elbow backward, shattering the giant's ribs and dropping him to the floor.
Renzo spun around, chest heaving. Standing by the doorway of the safe room, shaking violently but holding one of Renzo’s spare revolvers with both hands, was Delphine. Smoke curled from the barrel.
"He wasn't looking at you," she whispered, lowering the gun slowly. "He was looking at me."
Renzo stared at her, breathing heavily. He walked over, gently taking the hot weapon from her trembling fingers. He pulled her against his chest, shielding her from the carnage of the room, letting her bury her face in his shoulder as the adrenaline crashed and she began to sob.
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"It's over," he murmured into her hair, holding her tightly. "It's done. I've got you."
Down at the docks, federal agents were kicking in the doors of Arthur von MarQuetti’s estate. Sabrina was crying on the lawn in her silk pajamas as cuffs were slapped onto her wrists. The empire of corruption was burning, lit by the match of one starving woman's courage.
