Chapter 8 - Blood in the Penthouse
Inside the darkened auto repair shop, the smell of motor oil and rusted steel hung thick in the air.
Water dripped steadily from the corrugated ceiling into plastic buckets. Outside, the rain continued to roar, but inside, every breath, every footstep echoed with lethal clarity.
Marco motioned for Luca to guard the rear loading bay. He pulled Sofia behind a heavy hydraulic lift, his Beretta raised, his breathing calm and controlled.
“They tracked our GPS,” Marco whispered, glancing down at his encrypted phone. “Someone bypassed the car’s secondary scrambler. Moretti wasn't acting alone. He had someone on the inside feeding him our convoy’s exact coordinates.”
Sofia looked at Marco, her brows furrowing. “Dominic is dead. Vivian is in custody. Who else had access to the master transport codes?”
Marco’s face darkened with terrible realization. “The chief of our legal team. Harrison.”
Before Sofia could answer, the front metal roll-up door of the repair shop was kicked off its track with a violent metallic screech.
Three heavily armed men entered, sweeping weapon-mounted flashlights across the rows of parked cars and tool racks. Behind them stepped a man in a tailored trench coat holding an umbrella—Vincent Moretti himself.
“Come out, Marco!” Moretti’s voice echoed through the vast warehouse. “You thought you could humiliate me in front of the council and walk away? New York belongs to men who take what they want, not cripples who hide behind maids!”
Marco didn't flinch. He leaned close to Sofia’s ear. “Stay behind this steel post. Do not move until I call for you.”
“Marco, there are too many of them,” she whispered, her hand instinctively catching his lapel, her eyes filled with fierce concern.
Marco looked down at her, his expression softening for a fleeting second. He raised a hand, his calloused thumb gently brushing away a stray drop of rain from her cheek.
“You’ve protected me all night, Sofia,” he whispered softly. “Now let me protect you.”
He stepped out from the shadows into the center aisle of the shop, completely exposed, his hands resting casually at his sides.
The flashlight beams converged instantly on his chest.
Moretti chuckled, lowering his umbrella. “Look at you. Cornered like a dog in an abandoned garage. How poetic.”
“You shouldn't have come here yourself, Vincent,” Marco said, his voice echoing with absolute calmness. “A smart boss sends his soldiers. A desperate boss walks into the slaughterhouse personally.”
“You’re the one who’s unarmed, Marco!” Moretti sneered, motioning for his men to raise their weapons.
“Who said he was unarmed?” a voice called out from the darkness above.
From the overhead catwalk, Luca fired two suppressed rounds into the two mercenary shooters, dropping them instantly before they could squeeze their triggers.
At the same instant, Marco drew his Beretta with terrifying speed.
He fired once, striking the third shooter in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground.
Moretti gasped, dropping his umbrella and reaching frantically for his revolver. But Marco was already upon him. In two blinding strides, Marco closed the distance, grabbed Moretti’s wrist, and slammed him against the hood of a rusted sedan.
The revolver clattered harmlessly across the concrete floor.
Marco pressed his forearm against Moretti’s throat, cutting off his air, his face inches from the older man’s terrified gaze.
“You tried to kill me,” Marco said, his voice dangerously low. “You tried to kill the woman who saved my life. And you brought your war to the very streets where innocent men like her father were murdered.”
Moretti choked, his face turning purple, his hands clawing at Marco’s iron grip. “Marco… please… council rules… you can’t kill a Don without a trial…”
“The council already gave me the authority to take what’s mine, Vincent,” Marco whispered. “And right now, I’m taking your life.”
Marco raised his weapon to Moretti’s temple.
“Marco!”
Sofia’s voice cut through the darkness.
Marco paused, his finger on the trigger. He turned his head slightly toward her.
Sofia stepped out from behind the steel post, walking slowly toward them. Her expression wasn't horrified—it was composed, resolute, and clear.
“Don't give him a soldier’s death,” Sofia said quietly, looking at Moretti with cold contempt. “He doesn't deserve the dignity of your bullet. Let the feds have him. The evidence on Dominic’s flash drives connects Moretti directly to federal racketeering, illegal weapons smuggling, and twenty counts of murder.”
Marco looked at Sofia, then back down at Moretti, who was gasping for air against the hood of the car.
A slow, grim smile touched Marco’s lips.
“You hear that, Vincent?” Marco asked, loosening his grip just enough for Moretti to draw a ragged breath. “My head of security thinks a federal penitentiary in Colorado is a much better fit for you.”
Marco struck Moretti across the temple with the butt of his gun, knocking him unconscious onto the floor.
Luca climbed down from the catwalk, holstering his weapon, a satisfied grin on his face. “Reinforcements just arrived outside, Boss. The Bellini fleet is here. The city is ours.”
Marco nodded once to Luca. “Call the feds. Leave Moretti gift-wrapped on the doorstep of the federal courthouse with his financial records taped to his chest.”
“Right away, Boss.”
Marco turned back to Sofia. The rain outside was finally beginning to subside, the first faint light of dawn creeping through the cracked skylights above.
Marco walked over to her. He took both of her cold, trembling hands into his own warm, strong grip.
“It’s over, Sofia,” he said softly.
Sofia let out a long, shuddering breath. For the first time in twenty-four hours, the tension melted from her posture, and tears of relief welled in her eyes.
“It’s really over?” she whispered.
May you like
“It is,” Marco replied, his gaze unwavering, full of an affection he could no longer hide. “Your father has justice. The syndicate is secure. And no one will ever touch you again.”
***
