Chapter 6 - The Brooklyn Dockyard Ambush
The air inside the seaside cottage exploded into chaos.
Before Marco Moretti could pull the trigger, I slammed my hand down on the edge of the heavy oak dining table, flipping it upward with all my strength.
RAT-AT-TAT-TAT!
A hail of 9mm bullets tore through the solid oak table, showering us with wood splinters.
"Get down!" I roared to Hannah and Clara.
I drew my Glock and fired three rapid shots around the edge of the overturned table. The first round struck the lead mercenary in the chest, dropping him instantly; the second shattered the shoulder of the man behind him.
"Flank them!" Marco Moretti screamed from the porch, ducking behind the door frame. "Kill Dominic! Bring me the baby!"
Clara grabbed Hannah and dragged her toward the cottage’s back kitchen door. Grace was crying loudly now, her terrified screams piercing through the terrifying noise of gunfire.
"Dominic! We can't outrun them in the open marsh!" Hannah yelled, crouching behind the kitchen counter as bullets tore through the drywall above her head.
"You're not running!" I shouted back, ejecting my empty magazine and slapping a fresh one in. "Clara, take the keys on the counter! My boat is moored at the private dock behind the shed! Take the inlet out to the open ocean! I’ll buy you five minutes!"
"Dominic, no!" Hannah cried out, her eyes pleading with me through the smoke. "Julian said to leave it all! Come with us!"
"If I come with you, they will follow us to the end of the earth!" I yelled, pulling two flashbang grenades from my tactical belt. "I end this tonight, Hannah! Go!"
I pulled the pins on both flashbangs and bounced them out into the living room toward Marco Moretti’s men.
BANG! BANG!
A blinding white light and a deafening, disorienting pressure wave shattered every glass window in the cottage. The mercenaries screamed in agony, clutching their eyes and ears.
I didn't waste a millisecond. I vaulted over the overturned table like a demon unleashed, firing with cold, lethal precision. Two rounds to the chest, one to the head. Down went two more mercenaries. I swept through the smoke-filled living room, driving the remaining enforcers back onto the rain-slicked porch.
Marco Moretti was scrambling down the wooden steps, disoriented and bleeding from his ears. He turned, caught sight of me, and fired wildly with his sidearm. A bullet grazed my left ribcage, burning like liquid fire, but I didn't slow down.
I tackled Marco off the porch, crashing onto the muddy ground beneath the pouring rain. We rolled in the mud, throwing brutal, bone-crushing punches. Marco tried to bring his gun up to my throat, but I grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the bone snapped with a sickening CRACK, and tore the weapon from his grip.
I pinned him to the muddy earth, straddling his chest, pressing the hot barrel of my pistol directly against his jaw.
"Where is your father’s main hub?" I growled, my face inches from his, covered in blood and rain. "Tell me, or I will end the Moretti bloodline right here in the mud!"
Marco choked on his own blood, glaring up at me with wild, arrogant eyes. "It... it doesn't matter, Dominic! You're already too late! My father isn't dead! He... he wore a tactical rebreather when the gas flooded your house! He escaped through the sewer line!"
My heart cold-steeled. Victor Moretti was alive.
"Where is he?" I demanded, pressing the steel barrel harder against his throat.
"Pier 42... in Brooklyn..." Marco gasped out, terror finally breaking through his defiance. "The arms shipment... two hundred million dollars in gold and unregistered weapons... he’s leaving for South America at midnight on a cargo ship! If you kill me... he’ll hunt that baby down until she’s dead!"
I looked into Marco Moretti’s eyes—the eyes of a predator who would never stop coming for my brother’s child.
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"He won't get the chance," I whispered coldly.
I pulled the trigger.
