Chapter 7 - The Mastermind’s Fall
The heavy wooden door to Victor Moretti’s office was kicked off its hinges with a splintering crash.
Dominic stepped into the room. Three bodyguards immediately raised their weapons.
Dominic didn't fire. He threw a tactical flash-grenade directly into the center of the room.
A deafening BANG and a blinding flash filled the enclosed space. The bodyguards screamed, disoriented and blinded. Dominic moved through the smoke like an executioner. Three precise shots echoed in rapid succession. Three bodies hit the floor.
When the smoke cleared, only Victor Moretti remained, cowering behind his heavy mahogany desk, clutching a golden Colt .45 with trembling hands.
Dominic walked slowly across the room, stepping over the fallen guards. His black suit was splattered with blood, his face dark with soot and cold determination.
"Dominic... wait," Victor stuttered, raising his gold pistol with shaking hands. "We... we can make a deal! Half my turf! Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island! It's all yours!"
Dominic kept walking.
Victor panicked and pulled the trigger. CLICK.
The gun was empty. Victor had fired all his rounds into the doorway during the initial breach.
Victor dropped the useless weapon, sliding backward against the glass wall overlooking the harbor. "Dominic... please. We were old school. We followed the rules!"
"You broke the rules ten years ago when you put a bomb in my wife's car," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly quiet as he stopped two feet from the mob boss. "And you broke them again when you laid your hands on Mia and her daughter."
"She's just a maid!" Victor screamed, his arrogance shattering into pathetic tears. "She's nobody!"
Dominic grabbed Victor by his throat, lifting the heavy mob boss off his feet and slamming him against the reinforced glass window.
"She is under my protection," Dominic growled, his eyes dark with absolute vengeance. "And in my house... that makes her family."
Dominic did not use his gun.
With a roar of absolute fury, Dominic hurled Victor Moretti through the double-paned glass window.
The glass shattered into tens of thousands of sparkling pieces. Victor screamed as he fell two stories through the fog, crashing violently onto the steel deck of a barge moored forty feet below.
Dominic stood at the broken window, looking down through the swirling mist.
Below on the pier, the remaining Moretti guards saw their leader’s body hit the barge. Panic spread like wildfire. Dropping their weapons, the survivors fled into the dark docks, completely broken.
The gunfire ceased.
The night returned to quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the ocean waves against the wooden pilings and the distant mournful cry of a foghorn.
May you like
Dominic took a long, deep breath. The ghost of Isabella, the weight of eighteen years of mafia bloodshed, and the shadow of betrayal seemed to lift off his shoulders, carried away by the cold sea breeze.
He turned and walked back down the stairs.
