Chapter 7 - The Standoff in the Snow
The freezing wind whipped my dark hair across my face, but I didn't blink. My finger rested lightly on the trigger of my rifle, steady as a rock, trained dead-center on Salvatore Vance’s chest.
“Let her go, Salvatore,” I commanded, my voice carrying across the courtyard with a quiet, lethal authority that made even his hardened mercenaries tense up. “This is between you and me. The child has nothing to do with your decades-old grudge.”
Salvatore let out a dry, amused chuckle, swirling his cane against the slush.
“Oh, but she has everything to do with it, my boy,” Salvatore smiled, his old eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. “You see, the Moretti bloodline needs to be thoroughly pruned. Your father thought he could steal my territory thirty years ago and get away with it. You thought you could marry my favorite niece and play mob boss in my city. And now? Now I’m just collecting on a very old, very bloody debt.”
He glanced down at Lily, who was desperately trying to hold back her tears, her small body trembling from the freezing cold.
“Daddy...” she sobbed softly, her voice breaking my heart into a thousand jagged pieces.
Something inside me snapped. The cold, calculated mafia boss vanished, replaced entirely by a father driven by pure, unadulterated primal rage.
“You touch her,” I whispered, taking one deliberate step down the terrace stairs into the snow, “and I swear to God I will skin you alive and feed your remains to the harbor rats before your mercenaries can pull their triggers.”
Salvatore’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flash of genuine unease as he looked into my eyes. He knew my reputation wasn't built on empty threats.
“Kill him,” Salvatore barked, gesturing sharply to the mercenary holding Lily.
The gunman’s finger began to tighten around the trigger of his pistol.
Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.
I raised my rifle, tracking the gunman’s head through my optic sight, knowing that even if I fired and killed him instantly, the reflex twitch of his finger could still send a bullet into my daughter.
Crack!
A sharp, deafening sniper shot echoed from the north turret of the mansion.
The mercenary holding Lily froze mid-motion. A clean, round hole suddenly appeared right between his tactical goggles. His eyes rolled back, his grip on the pistol went instantly slack, and he slumped forward into the snow like a shattered marionette.
Lily stumbled free, falling into the soft drifts.
“Cover her!” I roared into my comms headset.
Before Salvatore’s remaining men could react, three of my top snipers opened fire from the upper balconies, picking off the outer perimeter guards with surgical precision.
Salvatore’s face turned white with absolute panic. He scrambled backward, trying to use his bodyguards as human shields.
“Traitorous bastards!” Salvatore screamed, grabbing a pistol from his lead enforcer’s holster.
I didn't give him the chance to raise it. I sprinted across the courtyard, closed the distance in three massive strides, and slammed the butt of my rifle directly into Salvatore’s jaw.
The old man crumpled into the snow, his expensive cane snapping in half beneath his weight.
I stood over him, pressing the heavy steel barrel of my rifle firmly against his forehead.
“It’s over, Salvatore,” I breathed, the snow melting on my tactical vest.
Before I could pull the trigger, the roar of a high-performance jet engine suddenly tore through the sky above us, followed by the blinding flash of red and blue lights flashing at the edge of the estate gates.
Federal agents and local tactical units were swarming the property. But they weren't here for me.
They were surrounding Salvatore’s armored vans.
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And stepping out of the lead federal vehicle, flanked by armed U.S. Marshals, was a woman I thought I would never see again in this lifetime.
Isabella.
