Chapter 9 - KINGS AND PAWNS
The confrontation took place at the Morelli shipping yards, the heart of our operations. I walked through the main gates alone, rain slicking my hair to my forehead, the ledger secured in my coat. Marco was there, surrounded by his loyalists, celebrating his newly seized throne in the main warehouse.
When the heavy metal doors screeched open, the laughter died. Marco’s face drained of color as he saw me standing there, a phantom returning from the grave.
“Leo,” he stammered, stepping back. “You... you survived the fire.”
“You shouldn't have missed, Marco,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. I threw the ledger onto the concrete floor at his feet. “I know everything. I know about the Romanos. I know about my father.”
Weapons were raised. Dozens of laser sights painted my chest. But before Marco could give the order to fire, the shadows of the warehouse shifted. The men I had secretly contacted—the true loyalists who had served my father and despised Marco’s greed—stepped out from the shipping containers, flanking Marco’s men.
A brutal, chaotic gunfight erupted. The warehouse became a deafening echo chamber of lead and death. I moved with lethal precision, dropping traitor after traitor, my eyes locked on only one man.
Marco tried to flee toward the docks. I cornered him near the edge of the pier, the dark water churning violently below. He drew his weapon, but I was faster. I fired a single shot, shattering his kneecap. He collapsed, screaming in agony.
“This is for my father,” I said, pressing the barrel of my Beretta to his forehead.
“You’re nothing without me, Leo!” Marco spat, blood bubbling on his lips. “I made you a king!”
“And I am burning the throne,” I replied, and pulled the trigger.
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The war was over. But as I turned away from his body, a hidden sniper across the pier fired. The bullet didn't hit me. It hit the shipping container next to me, but the concussive force sent me stumbling over the edge, plummeting into the freezing black waters of the Atlantic.
Before the darkness consumed me, I felt a hand grab my jacket. Elena. She had followed me against my orders, driving the Bronco onto the pier. With desperate, screaming strength, she hauled me up by my collar, pulling me from the icy grave, refusing to let the underworld claim my soul.
