Chapter 7 - The Don's Retribution
""Boss, you shouldn't be standing!"" I yelled over the deafening cracks of gunfire.
""It's my house, Marcus,"" Vincent growled, his voice gravelly and raw. ""Nobody kills me in my own home.""
He racked the slide with one brutal, practiced motion. Together, we laid down a devastating wall of fire, pushing the remaining infiltrators back toward the driveway. Vincent moved like a ghost, ignoring the unbearable pain tearing through his punctured lung, firing with pinpoint accuracy until the surviving hitmen threw down their weapons and fled into the dark woods.
Outside, a lone figure stood in the drizzle near the burning wreckage of the first vehicle.
Dominic.
He held a silver automatic pistol, his immaculate suit ruined by soot and mud. He looked at Vincent as if he had just seen the devil rise straight from the grave.
""You... you were dead,"" Dominic stammered, his gun trembling in his grip. ""The blade went straight through your heart! I watched the life drain out of your eyes!""
""You always were sloppy, little brother,"" Vincent spoke, walking out onto the ruined porch, rain washing the smoke from his dark hair. ""You couldn't even kill an unarmed man sitting behind his own desk. You had to poison the house, bribe my men, and threaten a little girl.""
""She's just a maid's brat!"" Dominic screamed, his sanity shattering under the weight of his failure. ""Everything you built belongs to me! I did the work! I ran the numbers! You were getting soft, playing house with the servants!""
""Those servants are my family,"" Vincent said coldly. ""And you are nothing.""
Dominic raised his weapon, aiming straight for Vincent’s chest.
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A single gunshot cracked through the night air.
Dominic gasped, dropping his gun into the mud. He looked down at the neat red hole in his shoulder. Behind him stood Dr. Morales, holding my backup revolver with both hands, the barrel smoking in the cold rain.
