Chapter 8 - BLOOD ON THE DOCKS
The blinding light of the flashbangs filled the room, accompanied by an ear-splitting shockwave that sent Costa’s mercenaries stumbling backward, clutching their ears and eyes.
Antonio didn't blink. The second the explosions detonated, he launched his heavy frame forward like a striking predator!
Before Damian could pull his trigger, Antonio grabbed Damian’s gun arm, twisting it violently downward until the bone snapped with a sharp CRACK!
Damian screamed in agony, dropping the weapon as Antonio slammed his heavy elbow straight into Damian’s jaw, knocking him flat onto the concrete floor!
"MIA!"
Out of the smoke near the entrance, Elena sprinted across the concrete floor, ignoring the gunfire echoing off the walls! She slid on her knees right up to the wooden chair, pulling a small folding pocket knife from her coat.
"Mama!" Mia squeaked.
"I'm here, baby! I'm here!" Elena cried, frantically slicing through the thick nylon ropes binding Mia’s arms and legs.
A mercenary scrambled out of the smoke five feet away, raising an assault rifle toward Elena and the child!
BANG!
Antonio didn't even look over his shoulder. He fired his sidearm back-handed, catching the mercenary squarely in the chest, dropping him instantly to the floor.
"GET HER OUT OF HERE!" Antonio roared over the deafening sound of gunfire, standing over Damian’s groaning body like a vengeful titan.
Marco’s tactical team moved in a steel wall around Elena and Mia, escorting them rapidly toward the rear exit under heavy covering fire. Elena scooped Mia into her arms, pulling her tight against her neck, weeping with profound relief as they reached the fresh sea air outside.
Inside the warehouse, the gunfire ceased within sixty seconds. All eight of Costa’s mercenaries were disarmed and pinned to the floor by Marco’s team.
Vittorio Costa was crawling across the dusty concrete, bleeding from a leg wound, reaching frantically for his dropped revolver.
A heavy leather boot came down on Costa’s hand, crushing his fingers into the stone.
Costa groaned, looking up in sheer terror.
Antonio stood above him, his suit jacket torn, his face splattered with gunpowder residue and blood, his eyes burning with a dark, ancient justice.
"Please..." Costa wheezed, his face pale with sweat. "Antonio... it was Damian’s idea! He paid me... he gave me the routes!"
"You put a gun near a child, Vittorio," Antonio said softly. "In my world, there are no excuses for that."
Antonio fired once into the floor beside Costa’s ear—a non-lethal warning shot that shattered the concrete—before turning his icy gaze toward Damian, who was clutching his broken arm, crawling toward the shipping crates.
"Damian," Antonio called out quietly.
Damian froze. He slowly turned over on his back, his face bruised, bleeding, and filled with the terrifying realization that his reign of deceit was officially over.
"Antonio... please..." Damian stammered, tears of fear finally breaking through his arrogant mask. "We're family... we have the same blood..."
Antonio walked over, standing directly over his cousin. He slowly unclipped his tactical harness, dropping his heavy weapon into Marco’s waiting hands.
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"You gave up your blood five years ago in that winter alley, Damian," Antonio said, his voice echoing in the vast, silent warehouse. "You don't get to claim it now."
Antonio reached down, grabbed Damian by his collar, and dragged him toward the open sliding doors where the cold wind off the East River blew fiercely across the pier.
