Chapter 7 - The Final Stand
The room was filled with the smell of expensive scotch and cordite.
Ricardo scrambled back,
clutching his bleeding shoulder,
his face a mask of disbelief and pure,
unadulterated fear.
"How?"
he choked out.
"The distillery was supposed to be your tomb."
"You underestimated the woman you kept in the basement,"
I said,
never taking my eyes off him.
"She gave me your location."
"She gave me the map to your soul."
Sofia ran toward me,
and I scooped her up with one arm,
keeping my gun leveled at Ricardo with the other.
"Get behind the chair,
sweetheart,"
I whispered to her.
"Don't look until I tell you."
She nodded and scrambled behind a heavy mahogany armchair,
clutching her rabbit.
Ricardo started to laugh,
a wet,
hacking sound.
"You think you've won,
Adriano?"
"My men are already coming up the stairs."
"You're trapped on a cliff with nowhere to go."
As if on cue,
the sound of heavy boots echoed from the hallway.
I didn't panic.
I reached into my vest and pulled out a small remote.
"I didn't come alone,
Ricardo."
"I just moved faster than the others."
I pressed the button,
and a series of explosions rocked the base of the villa.
My men,
having arrived by helicopter on the lower tiers,
were breaching the secondary defenses.
The lights flickered and died,
leaving us in the ghostly glow of the emergency lamps.
The door burst open,
and three of Ricardo’s hitters rushed in.
I dropped two with a double-tap to the chest,
spinning to kick the third in the throat before finishing him.
Ricardo used the distraction to lung for a hidden drawer in his desk.
He pulled out a subcompact pistol and fired wildly.
A bullet grazed my thigh,
a hot iron brand that made me hiss in pain.
I dove behind a stone pillar,
returning fire.
The room became a storm of splinters and lead.
"Sofia,
stay down!"
I yelled.
I saw Ricardo trying to make a run for the back exit,
the one leading to the helipad.
I couldn't let him escape.
Not again.
I charged through the gunfire,
ignoring the pain in my leg,
and tackled him just as he reached the door.
We went crashing onto the stone terrace,
the wind from the cliff edge howling around us.
He was a desperate man,
fighting with the strength of a cornered rat.
He clawed at my eyes,
biting and kicking,
but I was a De Luca.
I had been forged in the fires of the streets.
I pinned him down,
my hands finding his throat.
"Eight years,"
I growled,
tightening my grip.
"Eight years of her tears."
"Eight years of my daughter's life."
"You didn't just take my family,"
"you tried to steal their future."
His face turned purple,
his eyes bulging as he struggled for air.
"Wait..."
he wheezed.
"I...
I have...
the codes..."
"I don't care about your codes,"
I said,
my voice a cold whisper.
"I don't care about your money."
"I only care about the debt."
With a final,
mighty heave,
I threw him toward the edge.
He scrambled for a grip on the railing,
his fingers slipping on the frost-covered metal.
He looked at me one last time,
pure terror in his eyes,
and then he was gone.
May you like
A long,
fading scream into the abyss.
