Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Granite
The grand hallway of the Russo estate had turned into a tactical kill zone.
Thick smoke drifted through the high archways, lit by the flickering orange glow of a burning vehicle on the front driveway. The sound of high-caliber rifle fire echoed off the marble walls like thunder.
Victor Moretti stood near the grand fountain in the main foyer, wearing a heavy tactical vest over his suit, holding a silver submachine gun. He was fifty years old, scar-faced, with yellowed teeth and eyes wild with the frantic madness of a trapped animal.
"FIND HIM!" Moretti screamed at his eight remaining enforcers. "FIND THE BABY! BURN THIS ENTIRE HOUSE TO THE GROUND!"
Moretti knew his time was up. The federal warrants issued six hours ago had seized his bank accounts, raided his warehouses, and locked his lieutenants in jail. He had nothing left to lose. He had come to Blackwood Bay to destroy Daniel Russo’s legacy before the feds put him in a cage for the rest of his life.
"Looking for me, Victor?" a voice echoed from the grand staircase landing above.
Moretti spun around, raising his silver submachine gun.
Daniel Russo stood at the top of the stairs, framing the dim emergency lights. He didn't take cover. He wore no body armor. He held two heavy handguns at his sides, moving down the marble stairs with slow, terrifyingly rhythmic steps.
"KILL HIM!" Moretti roared.
Four shooters unleashed a wall of lead toward the staircase.
Daniel moved with a lethal, fluid precision born of twenty years in the underworld. He dropped to his knee, sliding down three marble steps, his dual weapons barking in a synchronized rhythm.
TAK-TAK. TAK-TAK. TAK-TAK.
Three hitmen dropped instantly, caught in precise headshots before their barrels could track his movement.
Daniel hit the ground floor, rolling behind a heavy granite pillar as the remaining shooters swept the hall with automatic fire.
Matteo and three loyal Russo lieutenants emerged from the East Wing corridor, flanking the intruders, executing a ruthless crossfire that pinned Moretti's men against the front entrance.
Within ninety seconds, the roar of gunfire died down.
Seven of Moretti's men lay dead on the blood-stained marble floor. The remaining shooters threw their weapons down, raising their hands in surrender as Matteo’s men slammed them against the wall.
Victor Moretti dropped his silver submachine gun, staggering backward against the rim of the marble fountain, clutching a severe wound in his side where a ricochet bullet had struck him.
Daniel stepped out from behind the granite pillar.
He walked over to Moretti, his leather shoes crunching on shattered glass and brass shell casings. He stopped three feet away, looking down at his lifelong rival with cold, clinical disgust.
"You brought twenty men into my home, Victor," Daniel said, his voice quiet, flat, and chillingly devoid of emotion. "You tried to kill my child."
"Your father took my family's docks thirty years ago, Russo!" Moretti wheezed, blood spitting from his lips onto his silk tie. "Your family has been a plague on this city! You think you're better than me?! You're a murderer in a tailored suit!"
Daniel raised his weapon, pointing the dark muzzle directly between Moretti’s eyes.
"No, Victor," Daniel said softly. "The difference between you and me is simple. You fight to destroy things. I fight to protect them."
BANG.
The gunshot echoed once through the vast foyer, then died away into absolute silence.
Moretti slumped sideways into the marble fountain, the water turning a deep, dark crimson under the dim emergency lights.
Daniel lowered his weapon, letting out a long, slow breath. He turned to Matteo, who was wiping blood from a shallow graze on his forehead.
"Clean the hall," Daniel commanded quietly. "Call the federal prosecutor. Tell him the Apex Syndicate has been officially liquidated."
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"Yes, Boss," Matteo bowed, his eyes holding a profound, quiet respect. "And the baby?"
Daniel turned his eyes toward the East Wing staircase. "He's safe."
