Chapter 7 - The Wolf’s Last Stand
The battle at the top of the staircase was quick, brutal, and bloody.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Vincent fired three precise shots before the mercenaries could clear their barrels. Two hitmen crumpled backward down the marble stairs, their weapons clattering uselessly against the stone.
The remaining three shooters opened fire, sweeping automatic rounds down the hallway. Drywall exploded, antique paintings were shredded into confetti, and priceless crystal vases shattered into thousands of sharp shards.
Vincent dove behind a massive marble pillar, bullets chipping away at the stone inches from his head. Stone dust filled his nose and eyes, but his hands remained as steady as steel.
BANG.
A third mercenary took a round directly through his tactical visor, dropping dead onto the hardwood floor.
"Flank him!" Dominic screamed from the back, panic creeping into his voice as his force was systematically dismantled. "He’s only got one hand! Kill him!"
A mercenary surged around the left side of the pillar, his shotgun leveled at Vincent’s chest.
Vincent didn't try to shoot. He stepped inside the man's reach, grabbed the barrel of the shotgun with his right hand, yanked it forward, and drove his heavy steel Colt directly into the mercenary's jaw. The bone shattered with a loud crack. Vincent spun the man around, using his body as a shield as Dominic fired a burst of automatic rounds into his own man's back.
Vincent threw the dead mercenary aside, leveled his Colt at Dominic, and pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
The slide locked back. Empty.
Dominic let out a manic, triumphant laugh. He stepped forward through the smoke, raising his assault rifle directly at Vincent’s chest from six feet away.
"It’s over, old man!" Dominic cackled, his finger tightening on the trigger. "The Santangelo empire dies tonight!"
BOOM.
A single, heavy gunshot echoed from the far end of the hallway.
Dominic’s eyes went wide. He looked down at his chest, where a massive, ragged hole had opened in his tactical vest. He dropped his rifle, his mouth working silently as blood spilled over his lips, and collapsed onto his knees before crashing face-first into the ruined floor.
Behind him stood Marco, holding a smoking 12-gauge shotgun, surrounded by six Santangelo enforcers who had finally cleared the lower floors of the estate.
The siege was over.
Marco ran forward, catching Vincent as the old boss finally let his knees buckle against the marble pillar.
"We got 'em, Boss," Marco breathed, his face covered in soot and blood. "The compound is secure. Moretti’s men are dead or running."
Vincent gasped for air, his right hand gripping Marco’s lapel tightly. "The boy... Sarah..."
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"They’re safe, Vincent," Marco assured him, tears breaking through the grime on his face. "They’re untouched."
Vincent closed his eyes, leaning his heavy head back against the marble pillar as the sound of distant sirens began to wail through the night air.
