Chapter 7 - THE FALL OF THE KING
Z
“Camila, no!” my voice tore through the torrential rain, raw and desperate.
The sound of her name over the roar of the storm made Camila flinch. She whipped her head toward the SUV, the long barrel of the rifle swinging erratically. That split second of distraction was all Massimo needed. He spun around, dropping to one knee with the fluid grace of a predator, and fired twice.
Camila’s rifle clattered to the wet concrete. She stumbled backward, clutching her shoulder, her face twisted in shock and agony before she collapsed against a stack of rusted shipping crates.
“Tessa, get back in the car!” Massimo roared, his eyes wild as he scanned the darkness for more threats.
But it was too late. The brief exchange had drawn attention. The main doors of the warehouse ground open, and Vincenzo Pascale stepped out, flanked by three men armed with assault rifles. Vincenzo was older, his hair silver, but his eyes held the exact same cold, ruthless emptiness as his nephew’s.
“Well, well,” Vincenzo’s voice boomed over the rain, a sickeningly calm contrast to the chaos. “The dead king returns. And he brought the little nurse with him.”
Massimo stood up slowly, raising his gun, but he was outgunned, and he knew it. Vincenzo’s men had their sights locked on his chest.
“It’s over, Vincenzo,” Massimo said, his voice cutting through the storm like a blade. “Your captains inside are dead. The Five Families just watched me walk through the door you said I’d never open again. They won't follow you now.”
“They will follow whoever walks out of this shipyard alive,” Vincenzo sneered. He gestured with a lazy wave of his hand toward me. “Grab the girl.”
Two of Vincenzo’s men detached from the group and sprinted toward the SUV. Lorenzo fired from the driver’s seat, dropping one, but the second man reached me, his heavy hand clamping down on my hair. He dragged me out of the vehicle, slamming me against the cold, wet side of the truck and pressing the cold barrel of a pistol against my temple.
I gasped, the freezing rain mixing with the tears of pure terror spilling down my face.
“Drop the gun, Massimo,” Vincenzo commanded, a triumphant smile spreading across his weathered face. “Or I paint the pavement with her brains.”
Massimo froze. The untouchable mob boss, the man who had clawed his way back from paralysis through sheer force of will, stood entirely paralyzed once again. His dark eyes locked onto mine, stripping away the violence, the empire, and the pride. In that fraction of a second, I saw exactly how much power I held over the most dangerous man in Boston.
“Massimo, don’t!” I screamed, struggling against the man holding me. “Shoot him!”
“Drop it!” Vincenzo barked.
Massimo slowly lowered his weapon. The heavy thud of the Glock hitting the wet asphalt sounded like a death knell. He kicked it away, raising his empty hands.
“Let her go,” Massimo demanded, his voice dangerously low. “This is between you and me. She’s a civilian.”
“She’s a complication,” Vincenzo corrected. He raised his own weapon, pointing it squarely at Massimo’s chest. “Goodbye, Nephew.”
BANG.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the scream, waiting for Massimo to fall. But the scream that tore through the night wasn’t Massimo’s.
I opened my eyes. Vincenzo was staggering backward, his gun dropping from his limp hand. A dark, blooming stain spread rapidly across his crisp white shirt. He fell to his knees, staring in disbelief at his own chest, before collapsing face-first onto the concrete.
Behind him, standing in the doorway of the warehouse, was Lorenzo, holding a smoking shotgun. He had slipped out of the SUV in the chaos.
The man holding a gun to my head hesitated, staring at his dead boss. In that microscopic window of distraction, Massimo moved. He closed the distance with terrifying speed, ignoring the agonizing protests of his recovering spine, and tackled the man. He wrenched the gun from his grip and struck him across the jaw with the heavy steel grip, knocking him unconscious instantly.
Massimo didn't check on the bodies. He didn't look at Lorenzo. He dropped the weapon and grabbed me, pulling me into a crushing embrace. I buried my face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably as the adrenaline left my body, leaving only violent tremors in its wake.
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“I’ve got you,” he chanted softly into my wet hair, his massive hands mapping my back, ensuring I was whole. “I’ve got you, mia luce. It’s over. You’re safe.”
We stood there in the pouring rain, surrounded by blood and the shattered remains of his uncle’s empire, holding onto each other as if we were the only two people left in the world.
