Chapter 9 - The Final Account
Emma didn't think. She didn't plan. She saw the man who had ruined her life about to kill the man who had saved it, and something inside her snapped for the second time.
"Marco, give me a gun," she demanded.
"Miss Hart, absolutely not, I am ordered to keep you—"
"He's going to die!" she screamed, pointing at the monitor.
Marco looked at the screen, saw the danger, and cursed in Italian. He didn't give her a gun, but he hit the release button on the vault door. "Stay behind me. If you die, Dante will kill me anyway."
They raced up the stairs, the air thick with smoke and the metallic smell of blood. They reached the grand foyer just as Marcus was about to pull the trigger.
"Marcus!" Emma yelled at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing through the ruined hall.
Marcus spun around, surprised. His eyes widened when he saw her. "Emma? You stupid bitch, you should have stayed in your hole!"
That split second of distraction was all Dante needed.
Hearing Emma's voice, Dante dove to the side just as Marcus fired. The bullet embedded itself in a marble pillar. Before Marcus could re-aim, Dante swept his leg out, kicking Marcus off his feet. Marcus crashed heavily onto the marble floor, his gun skittering away across the bloody tiles.
Dante was on him in a flash, his knee pinned to Marcus’s chest, his heavy pistol pressed directly between Marcus’s eyes.
"No! Please! Dante, don't!" Marcus shrieked, completely losing his mind, tears and sved streaming down his face. "It was the Morettis! They forced me! They said they’d kill me if I didn't show them the way in!"
Dante’s finger tightened on the trigger. His face was a mask of cold, unadulterated fury. "You brought war into my house. You put Emma in danger. There are no excuses left for you, Whitman."
"Dante, wait," Emma called out softly, walking forward through the debris.
Dante didn't lower the gun, but his eyes flicked to her. "He needs to die, Emma. For what he did to you. For what he did tonight."
Emma looked down at Marcus. The man who had once been her world, the man who had humiliated her in front of hundreds of people, now lay groveling on the floor in a puddle of water and blood, begging for his life. She felt no anger anymore. She felt nothing but pity.
"Don't do it, Dante," Emma said gently, placing her hand over Dante’s gun barrel. "Not because he deserves to live. But because you are not a monster. Don't ruin your hands with his blood. Let the law take him. Or let his New York friends find him. He’s already dead, Dante. Look at him."
Marcus looked up at her, his eyes full of shame. He realized that the woman he had called worthless had just saved his life, and in doing so, had proven she was completely out of his reach forever.
Dante stared at Emma for a long moment. Slowly, the murderous tension left his shoulders. He lowered the gun.
May you like
"Marco," Dante commanded, his voice dead. "Call the federal authorities. Tell them we have the head of the Moretti hit squad and a corrupt businessman tied up in the foyer. Give them all the financial records on Marcus Whitman’s fraud."
He stood up, turning his back on Marcus completely, and pulled Emma into his arms.
