Chapter 8 - THE BRASS KEY
The deafening roar of automatic weapons tore the heavy fog to shreds.
Sparks rained down like vicious fireflies as bullets ricocheted off the corrugated iron walls of Container 404.
Dominic grabbed me by the back of my coat and threw us both behind a stack of rusted steel drums just as the space we had occupied was chewed apart by gunfire.
"Cover fire!" Dominic roared into his lapel microphone.
From the darkness of the surrounding pier, Dominic’s loyal men finally moved in. The night erupted into a chaotic, terrifying symphony of violence.
I didn't care about the war. I didn't care about the syndicates.
I only cared about the little boy tied to the wooden crate.
Through the strobe-light flashes of muzzle fire, I saw Marchand. He had abandoned the ledgers sinking into the river. His face was twisted in pure, unhinged fury, and he was raising his silver revolver, aiming it directly across the container at Dominic.
He was going to shoot the man who had saved my life.
I didn't think. I didn't calculate the odds. The street-smart waitress who knew how to stay invisible evaporated, replaced by the daughter of Helene Laurent.
I lunged out from behind the steel drums.
I sprinted across the open floor of the shipping container, slipping on the slick, oily metal. Marchand saw me at the last second. He swung the heavy revolver toward me.
Before he could pull the trigger, I slammed my body into him.
My left hand grabbed his wrist, forcing the gun upward. The weapon fired, the bullet blowing a hole through the metal ceiling.
With my right hand, I gripped the heavy brass key—my father’s key—and drove the jagged, sharp teeth directly into the nerve cluster of Marchand’s forearm.
Marchand screamed, a high, ragged sound, and dropped the gun.
He backhanded me across the face, a brutal strike that sent me crashing to the floor, my lip splitting open, tasting of hot copper.
He reached down to grab the gun.
A shadow eclipsed the harsh yellow light.
Dominic stepped over me. He didn't hesitate. He didn't offer a monologue.
Dominic raised his weapon and fired two shots directly into Félix Marchand’s chest.
My uncle stared at Dominic, a look of profound shock freezing his aristocratic features. Then, he collapsed backward, hitting the iron floor with a heavy, final thud.
Silence slammed back into the container, broken only by the distant, wailing sound of police sirens. Dozens of them. Approaching fast.
Dominic had called the cops. He had sacrificed the secrecy of his own empire to ensure Marchand’s destruction.
I scrambled across the floor on my hands and knees until I reached the wooden crate.
Leo was sobbing, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Leo. Baby, look at me," I pleaded, grabbing a discarded combat knife from the floor and slicing through the thick plastic zip-ties binding his wrists.
Leo opened his eyes. He practically threw himself into my arms, burying his face in my neck, his little hands gripping my coat with desperate, bruising force.
"I've got you," I cried, rocking him back and forth. "I’m here. We’re safe."
"Sophie," Dominic said.
I looked up.
Dominic was leaning heavily against the steel wall of the container. Blood was pooling rapidly down his left leg. He had taken a bullet in the thigh during the chaos.
His men rushed into the container, their weapons lowered.
"Boss, the police are breaching the main gates," his lead guard said, breathless. "We have a speedboat idling on the south pier. We have to go now."
Dominic looked at me. His dark eyes were filled with a heavy, heartbreaking resignation.
"Get them on the boat," Dominic ordered his guard. "Take them to the safehouse in Montauk. Keep them guarded until my lawyers clear this."
"What about you?" I asked, panic spiking in my chest.
"I’m staying," Dominic said, sliding slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. "I’ll take the fall for the bodies. I have the lawyers to tie this up in court for years. If I run, they’ll hunt all of us. If I stay, you and the boy disappear cleanly."
He was doing it again. Just like he had done twelve years ago in Brussels. He was sacrificing his own life to protect mine.
The sirens were screaming now, tires screeching on the wet pavement outside.
"Go, Sophie," Dominic said softly, a tired, genuine smile touching his lips. "It was an honor finally meeting you."
The guard grabbed my arm, trying to pull me toward the back exit of the container.
I violently ripped my arm out of his grasp.
I picked Leo up, settling him firmly on my hip. Then, I walked over to the ruthless, terrifying mafia boss bleeding on the floor.
I reached down and grabbed Dominic’s hand.
"I spent twelve years running because I didn't know who I was," I said fiercely, my voice ringing with absolute certainty. "I am done running."
I pulled on his arm.
"We leave together," I swore, looking deep into his eyes. "Or we don't leave at all. Get up."
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For a second, Dominic just stared at me. Then, the smile returned, sharper this time, filled with awe.
He gripped my hand tight, and with a grunt of pain, hauled himself to his feet.
