Chapter 7 - The Mexican Standoff
The hallway lights flickered as an electrical surge hissed through the estate's backup generators.
Vinnie Cruz spun around, leveling his twelve-gauge shotgun directly at Dante’s chest.
"Back off, Moretti!" Cruz barked, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Sophie peeked over Marcus’s shoulder, her eyes wide with tears, clutching her little hands to her chest.
"Uncle Dante!" she cried out.
The word hit the corridor like a physical blow.
Marcus flinched, his grip on the blanket shifting as his eyes darted from the child to Dante's stone-cold face.
"Uncle?" Marcus laughed nervously, trying to cover his dread. "So the maid sang after all. It doesn't matter, Dante. The Russos have thirty men surrounding the grounds. You're finished."
"You sold my family for thirty pieces of silver, Marcus," Dante said, his voice deadly calm, not an inch of his aim wavering.
"Twelve years I served your father and you!" Marcus yelled, his saliva spraying in the dim hall light.
"I bled for this syndicate! And you were going to hand twenty billion dollars of maritime assets to a three-year-old bastard girl born in a trailer park!"
"She is my sister's blood," Dante replied coldly. "Which makes her ten times the man you will ever be."
Sophie wriggled in the blanket.
She reached into the pocket of her duck pajamas and pulled out a small, metallic blue star sticker.
"Marcus," Sophie whimpered, tapping the traitor's cheek with her sticky little finger.
"You're making Uncle Dante sad. Put the star on your coat so you stop shouting."
Marcus looked down at the tiny foil star pressed against his wet wool lapel.
For a fraction of a second, hesitation flickered across his face—the lingering memory of twelve years of loyalty fighting against months of greed.
That single fraction of a second was all Dante needed.
Dante didn't fire at Marcus.
He fired two rapid shots straight into Vinnie Cruz’s shoulder and knee before the shotgun could swing toward the child.
Cruz collapsed to the hardwood floor with a howl of agony, his weapon clattering harmlessly against the baseboards.
Marcus gasped, raising his revolver to shoot Dante, but Sophie’s small body shifted, blocking his line of sight.
"Drop it, Marcus," Dante roared, his voice shaking the timber walls.
Behind Marcus, the blue room door flew wide open.
Henry Cole stepped out from behind the curtains holding an antique double-barreled hunting shotgun, aiming it squarely at the back of Marcus’s skull.
"Drop the weapon, Mr. Vale," the elderly butler said with chilling politeness.
"Or I shall be forced to ruin this runner before the morning cleaning shift."
Marcus froze.
He looked at the iron-sighted shotgun behind him, looked at Dante’s unwavering Kimber .45 in front of him, and let out a broken, pathetic sob.
The silver revolver slipped from his numb fingers and hit the carpet with a dull thud.
Dante stepped forward, snatched Sophie out of Marcus’s arms with his left hand, and swept her securely against his broad chest.
Sophie wrapped her small arms around his neck, burying her wet face in his collar.
"I told him," Sophie sobbed softly against his ear. "I told him the blue star was for sleeping."
Dante kissed the crown of her dark curls, his arm holding her so tightly he felt her tiny ribs expand against his vest.
"You did good, little star," Dante whispered softly.
May you like
Then he looked at Henry.
"Take Marcus to the sub-basement. Don Russo will be arriving at dawn to answer for this intrusion."
