Chapter 7 - The Judas Mark
In the brightly lit, sterile expanse of the estate’s private armory, Silvio sat on an ammo crate, carefully unscrewing the brass cap of a bourbon flask. He took a long, burning pull, his rheumy eyes studying the vast array of tactical weapons lining the walls.
“Frankie always said you were a devil, Dominic,” the old man wheezed, wiping his mouth with the back of a scarred hand. “Said you could look at a man and know the exact dollar amount his soul was worth. How did you miss Paulie? He’s been bleeding you dry for three years.”
Dominic stood over a stainless-steel table, loading high-grain armor-piercing ammunition into tactical magazines. His hands moved with terrifying, mechanical rhythm. *Click. Click. Click.*
“Paulie was my father’s godson,” Dominic said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “When my father took three bullets in the spine outside the bakery twenty-five years ago, Paulie carried him two miles to the hospital in his arms. I blinded myself because of history. In our world, sentimentality is the only sin that carries a mandatory death sentence.”
Sadi emerged from the adjoining bathroom. She had washed the grime and plaster from her skin. She had changed into black tactical pants, combat boots, and a snug dark fleece jacket Marco had provided. Her short, jagged hair was pulled back. Though her face was pale and her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, the tremor in her hands was gone. She walked directly to the table, picked up a customized Beretta 92FS, checked the weight, and slid it into a thigh holster.
Dominic paused his loading. He looked up at her, his throat tightening. “You don't go to that boat, Sadi.”
Sadi’s head snapped toward him, her dark eyes flashing like lightning. “Try to stop me, Dominic. Try it. I spent three years crawling through the mud of this earth to stay alive for that little girl. I took a bullet through my sweater twenty minutes ago. You think you can tell me to sit in a pretty mansion while my daughter is in a cage on the ocean?”
“It’s an offshore assault,” Dominic said, stepping around the table, his voice dropping into a desperate plea. “They have radar. They have heavy machine guns. If the boat takes a hit, it sinks in three hundred feet of black water. I lost you once to the river, Sadi. I cannot watch you drown again.”
“Then you better make sure we don't sink,” she replied, stepping so close her chest brushed his tactical vest. She reached up, her small, cold hand gripping the back of his neck, pulling his face down until their eyes were inches apart. “You built this kingdom of blood, Dom. You let that viper sit at your right hand. You owe me three years of my life. You owe me our daughter. If you die tonight, I will drag your soul back from hell just to kill you myself. Do you understand me?”
Dominic stared into the eyes of the only human being who had ever looked at him without fear. He saw the fire that had kept her alive in drainage pipes and cheap motels. He saw the mother who would burn the earth to ash to protect her child.
Slowly, Dominic reached up, his gloved hand covering hers where it rested against his neck. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers.
“We bring her home,” Dominic whispered. “Or neither of us leaves that water.”
Silvio cleared his throat loudly from the ammo crate, racking his shotgun. “If you two are done with the poetry, the tide is turning. And I’ve got a nephew to avenge.”
Marco stepped into the armory, holding a tablet displaying a live thermal satellite feed. “Boss, the *Siren* just weighed anchor. They’re running without transponders, heading east-southeast at twelve knots. In forty minutes, they hit the twelve-mile limit.”
Dominic stepped back from Sadi, his face setting into an expression of absolute, terrifying ruthlessness. He racked the bolt on his assault rifle.
May you like
“Cut the marina lights,” Dominic commanded. “We launch in two.”
***
