Chapter 6 - THE SINS OF THE FATHER
The rhythmic, deafening boom of Marco’s shotgun echoed behind them as Luca grabbed Elena’s hand, dragging her and Leo deeper into the darkness.
“We have to help him!” Elena cried, slipping in the oily water.
“We can't!” Luca yelled over his shoulder. “He’s buying us time! Don't let his sacrifice mean nothing!”
They rounded a bend in the sewer line, the sounds of the firefight growing slightly muffled, though the sheer volume of automatic return fire told Luca everything he needed to know. Marco was severely outgunned.
Up ahead, a faint sliver of moonlight bled through a heavy iron grate above them. A maintenance ladder bolted to the concrete wall led up to the street level.
“There!” Luca pointed. “Climb! Go!”
Elena pushed Leo up the ladder. The boy scrambled up the rusted rungs like a frightened squirrel. Elena followed, pushing her weight against the heavy iron grate at the top. It groaned but didn't budge.
“It’s stuck!” she yelled down in panic.
Luca holstered his pistol and grabbed the ladder, climbing up right beneath her. He braced his shoulders against the iron bars. He took a deep breath, ignoring the burning ache in his chest left by the neurotoxin.
“On three,” Luca grunted. “One. Two. Three!”
Together, they heaved. The rusted hinges screamed in protest before finally snapping. The grate flipped open, slamming against the pavement above.
They scrambled out onto the wet, deserted street of the industrial district. The railyard was just across the road, a labyrinth of rusted train cars and shipping containers.
Luca pulled them behind a large, forgotten dumpster, trying to catch his breath. His heart was hammering against his ribs.
He looked back toward the open manhole. Silence.
The gunfire below had stopped.
Luca’s stomach dropped. He stared at the dark hole in the street, waiting for Marco to climb out. Waiting for his older brother to emerge with a bloody smile and a sarcastic remark.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty.
Nothing.
“No…” Luca whispered, stepping away from the dumpster.
“Luca, wait!” Elena grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
“I have to go back for him,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “I can't lose him twice. I can't!”
Before he could take a step toward the manhole, the screech of tires echoed down the block.
Two black SUVs came drifting around the corner, their high beams slicing through the rain. They slammed to a halt at the ends of the street, boxing them in.
Doors flew open. A dozen men poured out, weapons raised, completely surrounding the dumpster.
From the lead vehicle, Vincent stepped out, holding an umbrella over his pristine suit. He looked completely unbothered, as if he were arriving at a theater rather than a bloodbath.
“The problem with sentimentality,” Vincent called out, his voice echoing in the empty street, “is that it makes you predictable, Luca.”
Luca pulled Elena and Leo behind him, shielding them with his body. He raised his pistol, aiming squarely at Vincent’s chest.
“Where’s Marco?” Luca demanded, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Vincent offered a sad, mocking smile. “He fought bravely. Like a lion. But even lions fall when they are outnumbered. He died in the mud, Luca. Just like he was supposed to fifteen years ago.”
Luca’s vision swam. The grief hit him like a physical blow, heavy and suffocating. Marco was gone. Truly gone this time. And he had died protecting a brother who had stolen his throne.
“You’re a monster,” Elena spat, stepping out from behind Luca, her eyes blazing with hatred. “Our father took you in. He fed you. He loved you!”
Vincent’s smile vanished. His eyes turned ice-cold. “He pitied me, Elena. There’s a difference. He looked at me like a stray dog. He gave everything to his precious bloodline, and left the scraps for me. Well, I took the whole table.”
Vincent raised his hand, signaling his men. The clicking of a dozen safeties being turned off echoed in the rain.
“Kill them,” Vincent ordered casually. “Leave the boy alive. He might be useful.”
Luca closed his eyes. He had fifteen rounds. Twelve men. He couldn't win this. He couldn't save them.
He gripped the tarnished pocket watch in his left hand, holding it tight.
I’m sorry, Marco, he thought. I failed.
Suddenly, a massive, deafening explosion rocked the street.
The manhole cover ten feet away blew fifty feet into the air on a geyser of fire and steam. The concussive blast knocked three of Vincent’s men off their feet.
From the smoking crater in the street, a figure hauled himself over the ledge.
He was covered in mud, blood, and soot. His suit was shredded, and he was leaning heavily on his shotgun like a crutch.
Marco.
Vincent’s jaw dropped. “Impossible…”
Marco spat a mouthful of bloody water onto the street. He looked up at Vincent, a terrifying, predatory grin spreading across his scarred face.
“You forgot one thing about lions, Vincent,” Marco growled, racking his shotgun with one hand.
“What’s that?” Vincent stammered, stepping back.
“They hunt in the dark.”
Marco pulled a detonator from his pocket and pressed the button.
Beneath the street, the C4 explosive Marco had rigged to the main gas line of the warehouse directly under Vincent’s SUVs detonated.
The ground buckled. The street exploded in a massive fireball, swallowing Vincent’s lead SUV and half his men in a blinding flash of heat and metal.
“Get down!” Luca yelled, throwing Elena and Leo to the pavement as the shockwave washed over them.
When Luca looked up, the street was a war zone. Flaming debris rained down. The remaining gunmen were scattered, disoriented, and firing blindly into the smoke.
Through the fire, Marco was walking forward, relentless, his shotgun booming. Every shot found a target. He was a force of nature, a dead man exacting his toll.
Luca didn't hesitate. He rose to his feet, flanked his brother, and fired his pistol with deadly precision. Together, the Moretti brothers moved as one, an unstoppable machine, clearing the street of Vincent’s remaining guards.
Vincent was crawling away from the burning wreckage of his car, his pristine suit scorched and torn. He scrambled toward the shadows of the railyard, desperate to escape.
“He’s getting away!” Elena pointed.
Marco dropped his empty shotgun. He pulled his heavy combat knife from his belt.
“Take them to safety,” Marco ordered Luca, his eyes locked on Vincent’s retreating figure.
“Marco, let him go!” Luca pleaded. “The police will be here in minutes! We have to vanish!”
Marco stopped. He looked back at Luca, then at Elena holding her son. The rage in his eyes softened, just for a second.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, rusted iron key on a leather string. He tossed it to Luca.
Luca caught it. “What is this?”
“The key to our father’s old hunting cabin in the Catskills,” Marco said quietly. “The one Vincent doesn't know about. Go there. Keep them safe. Start a new life.”
“What about you?” Luca asked, his throat tight.
May you like
Marco turned back toward the dark railyard, where Vincent had disappeared.
“I’ve been dead for fifteen years, Luca,” Marco whispered, stepping into the shadows. “It’s time I go back to the grave. But I’m making sure he comes with me.”
