Chapter 6 - The Maid's Vengeance
Downstairs, Martha had not been waiting passively.
The moment she saw two unfamiliar guards approaching her with suspicious focus, she had slipped past the casino tables into the mansion’s utility corridor. Drawing the compact pistol from her thigh holster, she had shot out the main circuit breaker panel, plunging the entire estate into total darkness.
Screams echoed from the grand ballroom as chaos erupted.
Martha moved through the dark hallways using the tactical instincts her brother had taught her years ago. She reached the second-floor landing just as gunshots shattered the quiet of Moretti’s office.
BANG! BANG!
Inside the darkened office, Damian hadn't waited for the guards to adjust to the pitch blackness. He had tackled Victor across the mahogany desk, slamming his wrist against the wood until the silenced gun clattered to the floor.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the room in violent bursts as Moretti’s guards fired blindly.
Damian rolled, grabbed one guard’s arm, broke it with a sickening snap, and used the man’s body as a shield against incoming fire. He drew his own weapon and returned fire with deadly, surgical accuracy.
Two guards fell instantly.
Victor scrambled across the floor toward the open balcony, clutching a bleeding shoulder where a stray bullet had grazed him.
“Martha!” Damian roared through the smoke.
“I’m here!” Martha called out from the doorway, firing twice at the remaining guard who was aiming at Damian’s back. Her shots found their mark, dropping the enforcer to the carpet.
Damian stood up, his face covered in gunsmoke, his tuxedo jacket torn. He looked at Martha, a sudden look of fierce pride flashing across his dark features.
“You shot him,” Damian said, wiping blood from his cheek.
“He was pointing a gun at my partner,” Martha said, her hand steady on the weapon.
Victor scrambled over the balcony rail, dropping twenty feet onto the lower deck near the private docks.
“He’s escaping!” Martha yelled.
Damian grabbed her hand. “Not for long.”
They sprinted down the service stairs, bursting out into the cool night air near the harbor. Rain had begun to fall again, slicking the wooden planks of the pier.
Victor was staggering toward a high-speed speedboat moored at the end of the dock, holding his bleeding arm, screaming for his boat captain.
“VICTOR!” Damian’s voice boomed across the water like thunder.
Victor turned, his face pale and desperate under the dock lights. He drew a backup snub-nosed revolver and fired three wild shots.
Damian didn't even flinch. He walked down the pier with slow, deliberate steps, returning fire once.
The bullet struck Victor cleanly through his right knee.
Victor collapsed onto the rain-slicked wood with a blood-curdling scream, dropping his gun into the dark sea below.
Damian stood over him, the barrel of his gun pointed directly between Victor’s eyes.
“Please... Damian...” Victor sobbed, reaching up with a trembling, blood-stained hand. “We were brothers... your father...”
“You don't get to speak his name,” Damian said softly.
Martha walked up beside Damian, her emerald dress soaked with rain, her face pale but cold as stone. She looked down at the man who had ordered her brother’s car pushed into the Charles River.
“This is for Andrew,” Martha whispered.
Damian looked at her, giving her a quiet choice. He offered the gun toward her.
Martha looked at the weapon, then at Victor groveling in the rain. Slowly, she pushed the gun down.
“No,” Martha said clearly. “Andrew was a man of justice. Death is too easy for him. Let him rot in a federal cage for the rest of his miserable life after the syndicate finds out he betrayed them all.”
Damian stared at her for a long second. A look of profound respect softened his harsh features.
He lowered the gun and kicked Victor square in the chest, knocking him flat on his back.
“The flash drive with all your offshore accounts and evidence of your treason was just broadcast to every family boss on the East Coast,” Damian told Victor coldly. “By morning, you won't just be wanted by the FBI, Victor. You’ll be hunted by every mobster from Maine to Miami.”
Police sirens began wailing in the distance, cutting through the sound of the rain.
May you like
Damian took Martha’s hand, lacing his fingers securely through hers.
“Come on, Ms. Bellini,” Damian said, leading her toward his yacht at the far end of the dock. “Let's go home.”
