Chapter 7 - Blood and Redemption
Dense black smoke poured through the shattered doorway of the bunker.
Two hostiles in gas masks surged through the rubble, weapons raised. Viktor fired instantly, dropping the first man with two precise shots to the chest. The second attacker fired back, striking Viktor in the shoulder and forcing him back behind the heavy metal console.
Through the clearing smoke walked Dominic Vale.
He held a silenced submachine gun, a wicked, triumphant grin plastered across his scarred face. His eyes swept over the room, landing on Elena sitting in her wheelchair, holding the tiny pistol in two hands, shielding Amelia behind her legs.
"Look at you," Dominic sneered, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. "The little maid playing soldier. You survived a three-year coma just to watch your daughter die in front of you."
"Touch her," Elena said, her arms trembling as she aimed the pistol at his chest, "and I swear to God I will put a bullet through your throat."
Dominic laughed, raising his weapon. "You don't have the stomach to kill anyone, Elena. You're just a—"
BANG!
A shot echoed from the shattered doorway behind Dominic.
Dominic’s eyes widened in sudden, absolute shock. A dark red stain bloomed across the center of his chest. He staggered forward two steps, dropping his weapon, before crashing heavily onto the concrete floor at Elena’s feet.
Standing in the doorway, soaked in rain and blood, holding a smoking heavy pistol, was Roman Vale.
He looked like a demon unleashed from hell. His coat was torn, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead, his gray-blue eyes burning with an unholy fire. Behind him stood five of his elite assault team, having completely neutralized the remaining attackers in the upper mansion.
Dominic lay on the floor, gasping for air, looking up at his older brother.
"Roman..." Dominic choked out, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "You... you were supposed to be at the docks..."
Roman walked slowly over to his dying half-brother. He didn't look angry; he looked disappointed, filled with a cold, tragic finality.
"I left three men at the docks, Dominic," Roman said softly, kneeling beside him. "The rest of us turned around the moment your stealth chopper entered Grayhaven airspace."
"You... you always... beat me..." Dominic rasped, his eyes beginning to glaze over.
"I didn't want to beat you, Dominic," Roman whispered, leaning down so only his brother could hear. "I wanted a brother. But you touched my family."
Dominic let out one final, rattling breath, his body going completely limp on the cold floor.
Silence fell over the bunker, broken only by the hum of the air filtration system and the sound of Amelia’s soft whimpers.
Roman stood up slowly. He holstered his weapon, wiped the blood from his brow with his sleeve, and walked over to Elena’s wheelchair.
He looked down at her—at her trembling hands still holding the small pistol, at the fierce, protective fire in her eyes, and at their daughter clinging to her waist.
Roman fell to his knees in front of her wheelchair, completely exhausted, dropping his head against Elena’s lap.
"It’s over," Roman choked out, his broad shoulders shuddering slightly as years of suffocating guilt and fear finally broke through his fortress of stone. "They're gone, Elena. You're safe. Lia is safe."
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Elena looked down at the feared mob boss kneeling before her, weeping silently against her knees. The anger, the bitterness, and the mistrust she had harbored since waking from her coma evaporated into the quiet air of the bunker. She slowly set the pistol on the console, reached down, and ran her fingers gently through Roman’s dark, silver-streaked hair.
"We're safe," Elena whispered softly. "We're home."
