Chapter 4 - The Fall of the Traitor
The concrete warehouse became a war zone in a heartbeat. Gallagher’s thugs scrambled behind wooden shipping crates, blindly firing their submachine guns toward the blinding headlights. But Marco and the Old Guard were veteran operators. With brutal, calculated efficiency, they advanced in tight formations, cutting down the mercenaries before they could even find solid cover.
Declan Gallagher panicked, firing two wild rounds toward Victor before turning to sprint toward the rear fire escape. Victor racked the Benelli without breaking stride. A single blast took out the steel support beam right next to Declan’s head, showering him with concrete shrapnel and sending him tumbling down the metal stairs, screaming in pain.
Up on the catwalk, Tommy realized the trap had sprung backwards. All the years he had spent studying Victor hadn’t prepared him for the raw, terrifying velocity of the man when truly provoked. Tommy drew his sidearm and aimed directly at Victor’s chest from forty feet above.
Before he could squeeze the trigger, a suppressed rifle round from Marco’s sniper position punched straight through Tommy’s right shoulder. The gun clattered down to the concrete floor, followed by Tommy’s agonizing scream as he collapsed against the railing.
Victor climbed the iron steps deliberately, his boots echoing with the cold inevitability of an executioner. Tommy crawled backward along the grated walkway, clutching his bleeding shoulder, leaving a dark, smeared trail in the dust.
“Victor... wait!” Tommy choked out, his arrogance dissolving into pathetic terror. “It wasn't my idea! Gallagher had leverage on me! He found out about the money I skimmed from the docks four years ago! He was going to kill my family!”
Victor stopped two paces away, towering over the man he had called a brother. He looked down not with rage, but with profound disgust.
“You burned her hand, Tommy,” Victor whispered. The quietness of his voice was far more terrifying than a roar. “You held her down while Liam burned a letter into her skin. A woman who baked your birthday cake last November. A woman who pleaded with me to make you the godfather of our future children.”
“Victor, please! We were kids together on 22nd Street!”
“The boy from 22nd Street died the second you made Audrey cry,” Victor said evenly.
Victor didn't use the shotgun. He stepped forward, grabbed Tommy by his collar with one massive fist, and hoisted him effortlessly over the safety railing, suspending him fifty feet above the concrete floor below.
“Where is Claire?” Victor demanded.
“A brownstone on Racine!” Tommy shrieked, his legs flailing in empty air. “Third floor! Two guards! That’s the truth, I swear on my life, Victor! Don't drop me!”
Victor looked into Tommy's desperate, tear-filled eyes for three cold seconds.
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“I won't drop you,” Victor said quietly. “Gravity will.”
He opened his fingers.
