Chapter 8 - The Battle of Pier 42
The force of the breacher charge blew three mercenaries off their feet, sending shrapnel and black smoke billowing into the warehouse ceiling.
Before the smoke could even clear, Gabriel Moretti walked through the flames.
He moved like a phantom of death. He held a high-powered shotgun in one hand and a tactical pistol in the other. He didn't take cover. He stepped directly into the open, firing with terrifying, surgical precision.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three mercenaries fell instantly, blood splatter painting the concrete behind them. Gabriel’s enforcers swarmed in behind him, heavy automatic gunfire erupting from all sides, turning the warehouse into an absolute warzone.
"Kill him! Kill him!" Marco shrieked, scrambling back behind a stack of shipping crates, pulling his own pistol.
Gabriel ignored the bullets whistling past his ears. His eyes were locked entirely on Emma, tied to the chair in the center of the room, blood trickling from her bruised lip.
When he saw the mark on her face, something inside Gabriel snapped completely.
He dropped the shotgun, drew his combat knife, and sprinted through the crossfire. A mercenary lunged at him with a steel pipe, but Gabriel caught the pipe mid-air, snapped the man’s arm backward with his bare hands, and slammed his head into a steel support beam, dropping him instantly.
He reached Emma in seconds.
"Gabriel!" Emma cried out.
"I have you, my love," Gabriel whispered, his voice trembling with raw, primal emotion. With two swift slashes of his knife, he severed the thick ropes binding her wrists and ankles.
He pulled her up into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, shielding her body with his own tactical vest as bullets tore through the air around them.
"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" Gabriel demanded, his hands frantically checking her face, her shoulders, her arms.
"I'm okay! I'm okay!" Emma sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "He said he was going to kill you!"
"No one touches what belongs to me," Gabriel declared softly, pressing a fierce, passionate kiss against her forehead.
A sudden click sounded from twenty feet away.
Marco Valenti stepped out from behind a crate, pointing a silver revolver directly at Emma’s back. "Goodbye, Moretti!" Marco screamed, pulling the trigger.
Gabriel didn't hesitate. He spun his body around, using his own back to block the line of fire.
BANG!
The heavy bullet slammed directly into Gabriel’s upper shoulder, tearing through the meat of his collarbone. He gasped, falling to one knee, but he did not drop. He held Emma tight, keeping her pinned safely beneath him.
"Gabriel!" Emma screamed, horror flooding her veins as hot blood soaked through his black dress shirt.
Marco raised the gun to fire a second shot straight at Gabriel’s head. "Die, you bastard!"
Before Marco could squeeze the trigger, a sharp, ringing shot echoed from the elevated catwalk above.
A heavy bullet struck Marco’s wrist, shattering his hand and sending the revolver spinning into the darkness. Marco shrieked in agony, clutching his ruined hand as he fell to his knees.
Standing on the catwalk above was Marcus, Gabriel’s head of security, holding a sniper rifle.
Gabriel slowly stood up, ignoring the severe blood dripping down his arm. He walked over to Marco, who was crawling backward on the wet concrete, weeping and begging for mercy.
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"Please, Gabriel! It was Julianna! She made me do it! The Valenti family will yield! We will give you the shipping lanes!" Marco sobbed.
Gabriel looked down at the sniveling man. He offered no speeches, no dramatic declarations. He simply raised his pistol, aimed it between Marco’s eyes, and pulled the trigger.
